


i hate you some, i love you some, i love you when i forget about me

by sepulchralsmile



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Billy Hargrove & Maxine "Max" Mayfield Have a Good Relationship, Eventual Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Light Angst, M/M, Neil Hargrove's A+ Parenting, POV Alternating, Post-Season/Series 02 AU, Romance, Slow Burn, Smart!Billy, Smoking, Swearing, Underage Drinking, eventually lol, lmao more tags as we go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:41:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 89,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27688436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sepulchralsmile/pseuds/sepulchralsmile
Summary: After that night in November, Billy is willing to cut his losses, let sleeping dogs lie, and finally leave Steve Harrington alone. Easier said than done, especially when Harrington asks him to be his math tutor.—or, the gratuitous post season 2 AU that no one asked for.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Billy Hargrove & Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Maxine "Max" Mayfield/Lucas Sinclair, Steve Harrington & Dustin Henderson
Comments: 54
Kudos: 236





	1. no one knows they can never get that close, guesses at most

The morning after his fight with Harrington, Billy came home with bruised knuckles and a dried bloody nose. When his dad found out that Billy had gotten into a fight with the son of one of Hawkins’ biggest business moguls, he did him one better. That night, as Billy lay groaning into his bedsheets with the pillow clutched tightly over his head, he wondered if Steve Harrington was doing the same.

Billy wondered a lot about Steve Harrington, actually. When he saw him across the cafeteria his first day of school, he had wondered _who the fuck is_ that? And after Tina’s Halloween party with that disastrous first meeting due to Tommy H’s shit-talking and the nerves running under his skin, he wondered _will we ever have a normal conversation?_ And then last night, even, Billy had wondered _just what is Harrington’s_ deal?

Steve Harrington seemed to take up a lot of room in Billy’s mind. Last night had been the boiling point of his newfound obsession finally coming to a head; seeing Harrington at that house had felt like fate. Nothing had occupied his mind more than _King Steve_ since he got here. The pretty boy who had fallen hard; the pretty boy who Billy kept stealing furtive glances towards in the showers. He wasn’t _looking there_ or anything, there was an unofficial code of conduct in the locker rooms, but he couldn’t help but notice the way the water droplets left silvery streams across Harrington’s creamy pale skin.

The same creamy pale skin he bruised last night. God, Billy was such a piece of work he surprised even _himself_ sometimes. If Billy had any hopes of finally getting on good terms with Steve Harrington they were surely crushed after last night. Count on Billy’s dad to extend his influence in _every_ part of his life; the mood that held felt like poisonous black tar was one of the worst memories from last night. Count on Billy’s rotten luck with the universe to somehow bring about the series of events that led to the explosion last night.

Harrington being at that creepy ass house with those kids was still something that he had a hard time wrapping his head around, especially the fact that Max fucking _injected him with something_ , but Billy’s temper had more than exceeded the normal reaction warranted for the situation. The beef with the Sinclair kid was mostly his own projection; just the unfairness of the situation that Max could literally get away with _everything_ , and the second that Billy even _thought_ about stepping out of line his dad would come down on him hard. It wasn’t the kid’s fault but seeing the two of them rally against him _together_ had made his envy turn into wrath.

Now he had to deal with the aftermath. The pillow only seemed to press the ache blooming across his face, but it was the only form of pain he indulged in after the morning he had had. Neil had gone to town, operating under the excuse of teaching Billy a _serious lesson, boy_ ; truthfully, Billy knew it was a convenient reason to really lay into him without worrying about anyone asking too many questions. The only other people who would know better would be Neil Hargrove, Steve Harrington, and Max with her ragtag group of friends. That list also coincided with people who thought Billy was a waste of air and space.

Which had seemed like it would suit him fine. Having Steve Harrington loathe him was easier than waiting on one of those thousand-watt smiles he graced Wheeler with occasionally in the hallways. It didn’t matter that even the thought and idea of it made it feel like his gut was roiling in stomach acid, it was just something that was going to take some getting used to. Last night it had been easier than breathing to hit Steve over and over; his blood had been pumping and everything down to his toes was jonesing for a fight after that humiliating lesson with his dad right before he was supposed to go out. It was afterwards, when he was cold and sore and _lonely,_ when he took his sorry ass home and realized how the euphoria had changed to a rotting sickness, eating him up from the inside. It didn’t help that he also knew his ass was about to get handed to him on a gleaming, silver platter.

When Neil was smashing the side of his head into the wall separating the kitchen and living room _over_ and _over_ and _over_ , he wondered if Steve Harrington’s whimpers had sounded the same. Wondered if Steve’s voice had gone all high and pathetic, wondered if his breath had hitched in an uncontrollable reaction to so much _pain_. Bill hadn’t heard a single thing when he was beating Harrington, couldn’t even hear his own voice over the roaring of his blood in his ears.

Later, when he was the one getting beat, he made all those noises and wondered if his dad heard him at all, or if his blood roared too loudly in his ears to register anything too. That was like dousing himself in a bath of cold water, and even hours later when he was lying in bed he couldn’t stop shaking at the thought. He hated his dad, that was a fact he had made peace with a long time ago. What he hadn’t made peace with yet was just how similar he was to Neil Hargrove. Part of him wanted to believe that it was directly a result of his upbringing; but deep down he knew the curse of Neil Hargrove ran in his veins and down to his bones. Sooner or later he’d fuck up every area of his life; finally come full circle when he would turn into an angry, violent drunk. It was something that seemed inevitable in his conclusion but doling out that kind of violence after being on the receiving end of it for so long gave him no satisfaction.

Instead, it proved that he truly was no better than his dad at his core, and that was the worst part of it all. He was supposed to be _smart_ ; he was supposed to actually have _some_ kind of a future, one that didn’t include his dad or any of his qualities. Hating Steve Harrington and beating him to a pulp because he couldn’t face his own issues he kept under lock and key would only poison him from the inside. Steve Harrington didn’t deserve that, no matter how Billy desperately wished he could transfer those feelings into that conviction. Going any further would just cement the fact that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, and Billy had reached his quota of unnecessary violence for now.

No, for now Billy would let Steve Harrington have an easy rest of the year. It was still November, but Billy knew when it was time to peacock and when it was time to be a chameleon. If he owed anyone anything in this shithole town, it was an easy ride for Steve Harrington. Billy just needed to keep his head down and his nose clean for the rest of the year. Not that that would be easy, but Steve wouldn’t have to worry about any Billy-shaped problems at least.

~

School was exactly as draining as he thought it would be, with the added benefit of it getting twisted that Harrington had won their little brawl over the weekend. Not that Billy could blame them for the confusion; Harrington looked _bad_ , but after a good ol’ discipline session by his dad Billy looked worse. It was like some twofer Harrington got without Billy even having to hand it to him, some of his popularity given back after being crushed by Billy’s initial introduction.

Billy was treated normally at first, but as the day progressed and his mood got worse, he could see the image starting to shift in people’s eyes. Billy, the newest coolest guy who talked a lot of shit but got beaten to a pulp by _former_ King Steve, who was ascending back to royalty as the day went on. Billy didn’t blame them; he could only be so hostile to everyone until it finally stuck, and people were getting used to his whole schtick. Being from California wasn’t even able to save your reputation if you were a big enough asshole, and Billy definitely hadn’t been holding back since the second they arrived. It was due time for the polish to wear off; for people to realize that Billy really just didn’t belong _anywhere_ , let alone dinky little Hawkins. _Here ya go_ , Billy wanted to present to Steve, _wrapped it all nice and special for ya_. Let him have his popularity back.

He was fine on his own. Even when he had been surrounded by friends in California, he had been on his own. There was always going to be some divide; some kind of veneer used to shield the picture underneath. There wasn’t room for boys like Billy to have friends that knew details about him, that knew all the nitty gritty of what happened at home, and especially the _why_. No one had ever even bothered _pretending_ to want to know, and so it was just easy to keep his dark secret heart safe and locked away.

Smoking in his car during lunch seemed like it would feel pathetic, but Billy had been aching for a cigarette since first period and he hadn’t been able to spring out of the building fast enough come lunch time. There was no question that he wouldn’t be sitting with Tommy H and his hyenas, Tommy had made eyes over him over Harrington’s shoulder before school by the lockers, and the sneer alone was enough to register as unwelcome in Billy’s mind. Billy knew when to pick up a hint. When he had slid into his seat in English moments afterwards, his hands were already sliding to the pocket of his jean jacket in search for his cigarettes from some form of twisted muscle memory.

Steve Harrington notably hadn’t made any big splashes today, aside from his initial confusion and then acceptance as being the winner in his and Billy’s showdown. Billy himself had kind of hoped for some glance at the old King Steve once again reclaiming his throne, but the only thing Harrington gave him was the most searching, _scathing_ look across the hallway. It had made Billy feel cowed enough to drop his eyes and start shuffling to his first period. Shame or guilt wasn’t something he commonly let himself feel, but when it came to Steve Harrington there was a lot Billy wasn’t in control of.

He was on his third cigarette in twenty minutes, partially because the buzz helped with the hunger of skipping lunch and partially to calm him down before the math class he shared with Harrington. Of course, Bumfuck, Indiana didn’t have BC Calculus, so Billy was forced into taking _another_ year of AB Calc, which at had been easy the first time around but pure torture the second. Billy didn’t talk that much in that class anyway, preferring to keep his head down and coast with a straight 95 through the class, but even being silent in the same room as Steve Harrington was making his stomach do backflips.

However, it seemed Billy had nothing to worry about in math. There were maybe a couple minutes, right after the bell rang and everyone was getting situated, where Billy could feel Harrington’s eyes hot on the side of his face. He had kept his expression schooled blank and opted for staring straight ahead. After twenty minutes of not retaining anything their teacher was lecturing on, Billy snuck a quick glance Harrington’s way. Harrington was busy staring down at the worksheet in front of him, brow pinched in what looked like confusion and irritation. It looked like it would hurt his eye to have his brow so furrowed, Billy’s face hurt every time he so much as sniffed.

The relief over no confrontation didn’t seem to last long, though. Later, when Billy was skipping basketball practice at the end of the day and thinking about the extra hour he had to himself since he didn’t have to pick up Max, that was when Harrington accosted him.

And he literally _physically_ accosted him, waiting where Billy had breezed through the double doors, grabbing him by the lapels of his denim jacket and shoving him _hard_ against the brick wall he had been leaning on moments prior.

The initial shock and pain of it had left Billy uncharacteristically breathless, the tender parts of his back screaming in protest as they met the brick wall. The bruising was worst in the middle of his back; his dad had had him on the ground and whimpering like a dog, and the stone-cold wall dug into it in the most biting way. Harrington coming after him after school shouldn’t have been that much of a surprise, but Billy hadn’t been expecting it.

To his credit, Harrington didn’t let up or pause a bit, just ran his eyes over Billy’s face and kept his grip steady where he still had the denim clutched between his fingertips. The expression on his face was one of pure revulsion, something that made Billy ache more than the pressure on his wounds.

“Listen here, Hargrove,” Harrington said with such an intensity it sounded like he wanted to _spit_ at Billy, “I see you come near those kids or hear about you doing _anything_ to them and I’ll make you want to look this bad. Got it?”

It wasn’t the most well-said threat by any means, and Billy could tell it probably took the whole day for Harrington to build up the courage and confront him head on. Any doubts he held about the surety of Harrington’s claim, though, were extinguished by the look in his eyes as he delivered it; like Billy was the smallest creature on Earth that he had no problem crushing. It was eerily similar in concept alone to the expression his dad always wore when disciplining him, and that was enough to make Billy shiver out of his hold.

“Cool your jets, Harrington, Maxine already gave me my own medicine.” He groused back, trying to shake off the alien discomfort that was building.

And Maxine had delivered on getting her comeuppance. They had had a whisper-shout argument in his bedroom the morning he had come back, but that hadn’t been enough for her. Half an hour later, when everyone was gathered around the kitchen table, Maxine had loudly announced that last night Billy had beat up Steve Harrington, and then Maxine had looked on in horrified shock as Neil had decided to dole out Billy’s punishment then and there rather than sending her to her room as usual. Halfway through, when Billy had almost been rolling on the ground trying to squirm away from his dad’s kicks, he had glanced up to see her face pale as a sheet. _What the fuck did you think was happening?_ He wanted to ask, wanted to laugh at her, but there had been blood in his mouth, and he was only able to gasp at that point. Max hadn’t spoken to him or even looked at him for the rest of the weekend, and this morning she still gave him the silent treatment on the drive to school.

Point was that Billy already knew where he stood with Max. Don’t fuck with her or face the wrath of whatever she could wrangle, which so far seemed to have him flat on his ass two for two.

Harrington didn’t look satisfied, though, and when Billy tried to shoulder past him Harrington stuck out a hand and shoved him sideways back into the wall. Billy hissed in pain uncontrollably, doubling over for a second to clear the bright pain away from his eyes. Billy rounded on Harrington; hackles raised.

“Listen, pretty boy, keep shoving me around—”

“Or what?” Harrington looked dangerous, his eyes were glittering black, “You gonna beat me up again? I bet I could take you right now, in the state you’re in.”

Billy agreed with him. The way the fire was starting to burn under his skin at Harrington’s close proximity was starting to make him overheat, making him feel like he was shorting out.

“Yeah, I reckon you could,” he finally decided on indulgence, “Why don’t I let you get one slug in for free? I’m having a _hankering_ for it.”

Harrington looked thrown for approximately one second, before making good on his word and clocking Billy with a solid punch that felt just as equally fulfilling and terrible. He overestimated Harrington’s hook, and ironically his feet weren’t planted enough for the force, so he ended up falling onto the soft grass in seconds. It felt like jumping back into his bed at home after a session with his dad, and for one second he let himself close his eyes and pretend he was wrapped up in his sheets instead of being surrounded by the soft yellow grass of the school lawn.

There was silence, just the sound of Billy’s labored breaths in his ears. Finally, Harrington spoke up, “There’s something seriously wrong with you, Hargrove.” Before walking away.

The relief he felt at Harrington’s departure was telling, but something he wasn’t surprised about. The dual sensation of wanting to be the center of Steve Harrington’s attention while also wanting to _not_ get wrapped up in Steve Harrington was something he had struggled with since his first day here, and he still hadn’t made any progress.

It had felt good to rankle Steve’s nerves at first, get under his skin in a way that only Billy really seemed to know how. It was something he recognized he did with her other past conquests; pull the ponytails a little before becoming the sweetest guy on the playground. It was different this time around, though. This time, Steve Harrington hadn’t so much as _glanced_ his way, even when he was at his most annoying. The lack of acknowledgement had lit a fire in Billy’s veins; if Steve Harrington was going to ignore Billy, Billy would just have to show him how impossible that was.

And of course, it had ended with violence, just like everything else in Billy’s life. All he was ever capable of was taking hits and doling them out in return. He could recognize the tell-tale sensation of restlessness under his skin, nerves frayed at the edges, quick to anger and quick to throw the first hit. Hitting Steve hadn’t felt satisfying, though. It was easy, but not satisfying. It was easy to be hurt and then want to make others _hurt_ just because you were, and Steve’s ignore Billy routine had made him lash out in the worst possible way.

~

Max was silent when he picked her up from school. She noticed the fresh bruise Harrington had given him right away; eyes running over it and mouth opening slightly before she shut it determinedly closed. That was fine with Billy, he didn’t need Max’s comfort; he especially didn’t need her _pity_.

He didn’t know where her head was at, where her head had been. What had she thought all those nights she heard the tell-tale thumps in the kitchen? Did she not get the same shivers down her spine every time Neil spoke? Or when he narrowed his eyes even a fraction? No, Max never had any reason to be afraid, Neil had never given her any thought to be. Billy guessed he shouldn’t hate her so much for that, it just served as another reminder that Neil was able to infiltrate every part of his life and make it sore.

Even though she kept sneaking worried glances at him through the corners of his eye, she still stayed silent the entire ride back, not even complaining every time he opted for speeding through yellows instead of slowing down. As some sort of a thanks, he let Rock the Casbah stay on the radio and tried not to notice her fingers tapping in time with the music.

His dad wasn’t home yet, but Susan was lounging in the living room with a magazine. Billy barely paid her a second’s glance before beelining for his room and thinking about crashing into his bed after one of the most exhausting days he’d had in Indiana yet.

~

Weeks went by without any change. The leaves fell off the trees, the chill started to pick up, and Hawkins, Indiana stayed the same.

The static quality of his life was something Billy was acutely aware of. It felt like Indiana had made him stagnant: there wasn’t anything to do that didn’t remind him of how much his life had hit a lull. Back home, on nights like these when his face throbbed something awful and he had too much lightning trapped under his skin, he would cop an X from Jimmy and go swimming at night while he rolled. Either that, or he would drive around the streets of Encinitas for hours; every building near the pier was always well lit even past midnight, and it was comforting to drive with the windows rolled down and be able to feel the breeze or listen to snippets of conversation that would drift in and out. Neil was fine when Billy would go out after a “lesson” sometimes, he knew that Billy was like a pressure cooker. Had to let some steam out _sometime_ or risk blowing the whole place up. Indiana didn’t have any of all that, but it had streets he could still cruise down, no matter how biting the wind was when he rolled down his windows.

It was a horrible drain on gas _and_ his allowance, but it was the only thing he had.

It was one of these nights that he ran into Steve Harrington.

It was purely a fluke, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment. Billy had been doing his usual circuitous route around Hawkins and had accidentally turned down Northlake into Loch Nora. Usually if it was day time he would slow down to stare at all the mansions that lined the neighborhood, but he never came at night since it was kind of out of the way and none of the houses would be lit up. He hadn’t been paying attention tonight and had ended up having to take such an abrupt right turn he monetarily mourned the suspension in his car.

The neighborhood was kind of closed off, a creek bed and surrounding trees made for a natural kind of barrier between that neighborhood and the one that sat right behind it. It was there, parked on the grass near an opening in the trees for the creek, that he saw Steve Harrington’s red Beamer.

Before Billy could think about what he was doing he had rolled to a stop and threw his car into park. A quick glance at his watch and he could see it was 12:47, about ten minutes before he had planned on driving back home. He hesitated for maybe a second before deciding to throw caution to the wind and got out of his car to approach the Beamer.

Upon closer inspection, there was no one in the vehicle. It was turned off, but when he yanked on the driver’s handle, he was surprised to see that it was unlocked. Something like unease started to build in his gut. Harrington had some kind of weird penchant for doing stuff at night that Billy would probably never understand, but there was just _some_ part of him that had to make sure that nothing actually bad was happening. Call it his further penance to Steve Harrington.

The opening between the trees to the creek seemed to be the most obvious place look since the Beamer was parked so close, but for the life of him Billy couldn’t imagine any reason why Harrington would feel the need to explore the creeks by his house past midnight on a school night no less. There was another part of Billy that was wondering why he was even bothering to look for Harrington; but it was just in Billy’s nature to keep gravitating back to what caused him the most pain. Harrington could hate the sight of his arrival, but if he was in trouble there was no way Billy was backing down at this point to investigate. The bizarreness of the situation was starting to get under his skin.

He stumbled through the opening, keeping his hands in front of his face to catch any stray branches in the dark. “Harrington?” he called, not bothering to keep his voice down.

No answer. The hill going down to the creek was steep, but the ground was dry, so he was able to keep from stumbling. The sound of fallen leaves cracking under his boots seemed to echo in the resounding silence.

He was walking aimlessly toward the creek bed when he started to smell the heady scent of a joint.

“Harrington?” He called again, sure now that Harrington had to be around here somewhere.

This time he got an answer back in the form of a sputtering cough and a panicked, “Hello?”

Billy spotted where he was now: sat on a rock overlooking the somewhat calm water. The light wasn’t any good, but the moon illuminated through the trees enough to catch that hair, and Billy would know those locks from anywhere. Harrington scrambled to his feet and tensed up when Billy came into sight.

“Hargrove?” He sounded confused, but not scared.

“The one and only.” Billy intoned. “Whatcha’ up to?” He didn’t know why that was the first thing he went with, but there was something in the guarded way Harrington was standing that made Billy try to act casual.

Harrington dithered. “Oh, ya know . . . just—uh. Hanging out?”

Billy snorted. Maybe Harrington really wasn’t getting up to anything crazy in the middle of the night, but the perpetual guilty tone in his voice wouldn’t do him any wonders in the long run.

“What about you?” This definitely didn’t come across as casual, like Steve was suspicious that Billy had actually followed him here. Which, technically he _did,_ but not in the way Harrington thought.

Billy opted for casual yet again. “Just doing my nightly rounds and happened to see an abandoned BMW on the side of the road.”

Harrington seemed to accept his answer then, his demeanor relaxing somewhat. He took off the still-smoldering joint in his hand before tentatively offering it to Billy.

Surprised, Billy stepped forward and took a hit. It wasn’t anything too good, but all the weed in Hawkins didn’t stand to what he’d had in Cali. Besides, a joint at 1 a.m. was a joint at 1 a.m., and beggars couldn’t be choosers. Harrington waited until Billy passed the joint back.

“Making your rounds?”

Billy shrugged, even though it was dark, and Harrington probably couldn’t see him. “Just driving around town.”

“Past midnight?”

“I could ask you why you’re chillin’ by a fuckin’ _creek_ past midnight . . .”

Harrington huffed out a laugh at that one, passing the joint back to Billy. Billy could hardly believe he was sharing a joint with _Steve Harrington_ in the middle of the night. Billy and Harrington had mostly steered clear of each other (which, in Billy’s case was really _pretending_ that he wasn’t tracking every move Steve made from the corner of his eyes) since that initial confrontation after school. Every so often he thought he could see Harrington staring at him in their math class, but Billy didn’t dare look his way for fear of being caught out. He usually chose to smoke in his car for lunch nowadays, and he was sure Harrington appreciated having his spot back in the cafeteria.

They passed the joint back and forth, the silence wasn’t awkward, but they also seemed to be wary of disturbing it. Billy kept searching for things to say, but every time the words came to his lips, he would lose all steam and let them die out. Billy, who usually _always_ had something to say, was drawing a complete blank.

After the joint ended and Harrington stepped it out into the ground, they both stood there for a second. Billy noticed air puffs coming from both of their mouths and only just then considered the cold night. His denim jacket had been just fine in California, but it was no match for the incoming Indiana winter.

Harrington was the first to break their silence. “So . . . why’d you lie about the fight?”

It was one of the last things Billy had expected, and the weed was starting to make his head fuzzy. “What?” was what he eloquently responded.

“I mean, why did you let everyone think I won?” Harrington was facing him full-on now, and in the dark his eyes looked completely black. “I know I got _some_ hits in, but not many. Not enough to have actually made your face look like _that_.”

Billy shrugged uncomfortably, wondering why Harrington just couldn’t let some things _be_ , especially when he ended up benefitting from it. “I dunno man,” he said starting to feel on edge. Out here, surrounded by the darkness with the babbling creek in the background, Billy felt like there weren’t any walls up. Felt like Harrington could see right through him, and he itched to get back to the safety of his car. He hated how transparent he was sometimes, always when he least needed it. “Figured it was the least I could do after—ya know.”

It felt like a cop-out to the highest degree. Harrington seemed to buy it anyway.

“Right,” he continued, and Billy tensed even more, if it was physically possible,” So then who _did_ you get into a fight with that night?” He gave a pause before narrowing his eyes. “Actually, who did you get into a fight with _tonight?_ ”

Billy’s fingers itched to instinctually touch his lips and nose where both had been split hours earlier. He had a good patchwork assortment of bruising currently swelling on his upper back, but Harrington couldn’t see those. To be honest, the pain had mostly disappeared from his mind when he had first spotted the BMW. Now, however, the reminder had them throbbing in time with his pulse, which was now rabbiting.

He resorted back to the usual bravado used to deter anyone from anything. It included a sly grin, tongue poking through his cheek, and a casual, “Wouldn’t you like to know, pretty boy?” Pretty boy always seemed to roll off his tongue so easily when Steve Harrington was involved.

Harrington flushed, but didn’t rise to the bait. Instead he crossed his arms over his chest. “I mean, that _is_ why I’m asking. I would like to know.”

“And why is that?”

“So, I can send them a thank you card.”

Billy barked out a laugh. Picturing Steve Harrington thanking his dad for beating him was a sick kind of funny that made his head spin and his chest hurt. It only served to prove as a reminder that Billy really did fuck up everything in his life. For a second, he thought about cracking a joke about how Harrington was eager to come home with him, but he knew better than that. He settled on, “I’ll pass the message next time I see him.”

Harrington, who had had a canny eye on him this entire time, didn’t seem to know what to say to that. Billy was wondering why Harrington was worrying his pretty little head over why Billy’s face had been roughed up. Billy had thought he had done enough at school boosting Harrington’s reputation, but apparently there were still some loose ends he’d need to take care of in order for Harrington to finally let go.

“Listen,” he started uncomfortably, already knowing what he was about to say was going to feel like torture to get out, “I just wanted to . . . I’m sorry.” He finished lamely. “I was having kind of a rough night, and I was really fiending for a fight.” Harrington’s eyes were wide in the moonlight. “Anyways, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” His apology hung in the air.

Harrington looked nonplussed; his mouth still slightly open from when it had fallen at the beginning of Billy’s little speech. Feeling suddenly exhausted and extremely embarrassed, Billy ended the moment with a two-finger wave, “Welp, that’s my cue.” and turned on his heel.

God, he should have never even stopped for Harrington’s stupid Beamer. If Harrington decided to disappear into the woods leaving his fancy-ass car abandoned on the side of the road, that was his prerogative. If Harrington needed anything, was ever in trouble, he already had a support system in the form of Byers, Wheeler, and the group of middle-schoolers he always seemed to be toting around in his car. Harrington didn’t need Billy Hargrove of all people to check in and make sure he was okay, especially when moments ago he had talked about thanking the person who rearranged Billy’s face.

It just served as a painful reminder that in the grand scheme of things, Billy really had no one. Harrington had a weird assortment, sure, but at least he had _people._ One of those people being Max, which was a sick play of irony that she gave a shit about a total stranger more than her stepbrother. Not that he really deserved Max’s support anyway, but god it got tiring waking up every day and knowing that everyone in the house probably hated him. Even back in California Max had been somewhat of a loner: something she and Billy shared in common. Now, she had a tighter group of friends than Billy ever thought he could have, and that was just another thing that sat uncomfortably under his skin the more he thought about it.

Billy could only hear the dull roar of his pulse in his ears and the almost overwhelming crunches and snaps of detritus under his feet. Harrington came thundering into view, clutching at Billy’s shoulder to catch up with him. He accidentally dug his thumb into one of the tender spots on his back and Billy nearly keeled over in pain. Steve must have taken his hiss of pain to be threatening and dropped his hand immediately.

Billy swayed on his feet, startled a bit by how quickly Harrington had appeared. Harrington was blocking his path back up through the trees now, facing him head on and giving Billy shivers that had nothing to do with the steadily declining temperature.

“Woah, woah, dude,” Harrington sounded placating. “You just caught me off guard. I wasn’t expecting it, was all.”

Billy didn’t know what to say. Harrington continued before he could formulate a response. “I . . . I kind of figured.”

Now Billy was lost. “What?”

Harrington seemed to search for the words. “I mean, I had kind of figured you were in a bad mood that night. I sort of realized physical violence was your go-to when you’re stressed.”

It was an accurate read, but one that left Billy uncomfortable knowing Steve Harrington could pin-point it so well. “Oh yeah? And how did you _figure_ that?” It sounded too defensive already and Billy wished he could grab the reigns for this conversation.

Harrington gave an easy shrug, not bothered at all by Billy’s developing prickly tone and attitude. “That day after school when I confronted you. You were literally begging me to hit you.”

Billy remembered. Not one of his finest moments, maybe, but at the time nothing seemed sweeter than Steve Harrington’s fist across his face. He didn’t think Harrington would have paid that close of attention, or that he would even think about it enough to be able to draw his own conclusions about Billy. For the life of him he couldn’t figure out what to say. Billy’s silver tongue was uncharacteristically silent. The whole conversation was throwing him through a loop.

Harrington seemed to take pity on him. “So, yeah. Um. Good talk.” His hand clapped so abruptly on Billy’s shoulder that he jumped out of his skin. Harrington took an involuntary step back. At least it confirmed that there was still some part of him that feared Billy.

They stood there for a second, regarding each other in the overwhelming silence. Finally, Billy was able to get his head screwed on correctly and fumbled a response. “Well, I’ll be seeing you, then, Harrington.” And went to step around him.

He had gone maybe three or four steps before Harrington called after him, “You know you can just call me Steve, right? It feels like a shitty spy movie when we just call each other by our last names.”

Billy gave him a snort to cover up the words dying in his throat. He felt hot all over. Maybe it was nothing to the other boy, but getting the privilege to call Harrington “Steve” was something that made him feel breathless. All he had wanted from the beginning was Steve’s attention, and while he hadn’t gone about it in the best way at first, he was getting it _now._ It was a heady feeling that also signaled danger.

Because this was the thing: good, all-American, red-blooded _straight_ boys didn’t get so excited over getting the first name privileges of a fellow classmate. Who happened to be a guy. Who also happened to be the fixture of Billy’s obsession since arriving in Hawkins. There were things Billy knew about himself; things that he had just accepted so long ago that he would have to bury and hide and stow away indefinitely, and this was one of those things. In California it had been easier, there were way more laid-back surfers and open-minded stoners there than there were in a bumpkin town like Hawkins. Over there if you just so happened to kiss one of your buddies that was straight, they either brushed it off easily or gave you hell for it for a couple weeks.

Not that Billy even took those risks all that much back in California, anyways. He had the irrational belief since he was about five that somehow his dad could read his mind. It was one of those things that made Billy terrified of his father; worried that one day Neil Hargrove would just look him in the eyes and know his son was a _faggot_. Billy’s dad always had a way of finding things out, and this was something Billy was determined to take to the grave with him if need be.

But then the move to Hawkins happened, and then Billy had seen Harrington in the hallways that first day of school and thought, _Oh fuck._ One glance at Harrington’s pretty pink lips and his shiny helmet of hair had had Billy in a tizzy before first period even started. So, he had reacted the way he knew was the best: immediate defense along with a bad attitude. Billy had to nip it in the bud before it became out of his control. And of course, that’s when it _really_ spiraled out of control; peacocking on the court and flirting in the fucking _showers_ like he had a death wish. Of course, to him it was all flirting, to Steve it was entirely antagonistic. Story of Billy’s life.

He had never expected anything to come of it, though. He knew when to cut his losses, and after beating the shit out of him it seemed like Steve Harrington fell under the category of losses to be cut. Billy never thought anything could have been salvaged from it, but here was Steve proving him wrong.

 _Steve_ was still waiting for some kind of a response. Billy guessed if he really wanted, he could throw a nasty grin and an even nastier insult back, really solidify Steve’s dislike for Billy, but that didn’t feel satisfying. Steve was willing to offer an olive branch when _Billy_ was the one who beat his face in. It felt like going back to square one if he did that; like all this progress was for nothing.

So instead, he swallowed his nerves and took the gesture for what it was. “Steve,” he tried, testing it out. It was a different feeling saying it out loud rather than constantly repeating it in his head. Steve mistook his tone for some kind of tease, because he just scoffed lightly in response.

“Alright, then, Steve,” Thoroughly enjoying both how the name rolled of his lips and how the night had gone, “Catch you on the flipside.”

~

That night didn’t change much for a while. Billy still saw Steve everywhere, especially in their shared math class, only this time there wasn’t that underlying degree of tension or hostility under the surface. The few times they managed to catch each other’s eye there was only a simple nod of acknowledgment exchanged. It technically wasn’t much, but it was already lightyears better than what had been going on between them before, and something in Billy’s chest had loosened each time they made eye contact and it didn’t end in derision or conflict. He treasured every glance of Steve’s chocolate eyes to his own but was careful to hoard them to himself. There wasn’t much interaction past that.

The first semester ended without any fanfare, and winter break hit with a startling tenacity Billy had no preparation for. The only thing he had that could really cut through any windchill was his leather jacket, and that really wasn’t doing all that much. Billy, who had never seen snow in his life before Hawkins, was now getting an up close and personal viewing every other day.

Tensions fizzled out between him and Maxine. Earlier on in December he had dropped a new skateboard on her bed while she had been out with the dweebs. They had already been inching towards some kind of tentative truce, but after this gesture they were starting to make progress. Billy suspected part of her newfound acceptance of him was due to the fact of his dad’s more frequent at home presence. Life as a construction manager during the winter had less opportunities in Indiana than it did California, and as a result Neil Hargrove was home most days of the week. Billy suffered the consequences.

Neil was getting more comfortable “disciplining” him in front of Max and Susan since that initial incident after that night in November. His dad being home all the time combined with the fact that he had to also see Billy’s ugly mug there created the perfect storm. His dad took his work frustrations out on Billy, and Billy had no choice but to bear the brunt of it and wait for the next round.

Most of winter break was spent holed up in his room, either curled in the fetal position or rereading his books. He was in such bad shape most of the time he didn’t feel like leaving the house and getting gawked at.

It was a direct contrast to Max, who had been going out almost every day to hang out with her little group of friends. A lot of times when she would ask permission, she would cast her eyes at Billy. He knew she probably thought he was some kind of pathetic freak to feel sorry for, and oh how the mighty had fallen. But she was right, Billy had to admit, he was such a depressing sack lately even _he_ could feel it; but he was unable to stop it.

He still ended up driving her everywhere and picking her up. It was some kind of satisfaction on Neil’s part; to know that Billy had nothing to do except cater to Max and her carpooling desires. Most times he would spot Steve outside of the arcade, or at one of the geek’s houses when he would pick up Max, but they never gave any more than that tentative nod. Towards the end of the break Billy’s dad’s work situation wasn’t improving, and he spent the tail end of the break hunched over in his room with the lights off. Steve started to be the one to pick Max up and drop her off, and Billy never left his room even when he could hear the Beamer pull up out front. Max never directly said anything to him about the situation at home, but those last two weeks she would sometimes slip in just to place some rubbing alcohol and cotton wipes into his room, or even better, a Ziploc of some of Susan’s pain medication from her wisdom teeth removal.

The week before school started Billy’s dad _finally_ got another long-term gig and was out of the house again for most of the day in the days following, which gave Billy all the respite he needed.

The second semester was due to start soon, and Billy was looking forward to it like another night with his dad: not in the least bit. A new semester would still reek of the same bullshit; distantly Billy wondered how angry his dad could get at him. It seemed like there was something different to Neil now, like every move Billy made just made him angrier and more resentful. Billy felt like they were building to something, and he wasn’t looking forward to what that was supposed to mean. The only plan he had going forward was to keep his head down and coast through the rest of the semester, get a job over the break, then hopefully he would be gone by the end of the summer. Every day until then was just trying to live, trying to dodge a hit that might just go too far. The new job helped loosen his dad’s frustration, but Billy knew that he would erupt eventually. He always did.

The only difference was now Max was an eyewitness, and she seemed to be expecting something too. Every time his dad’s eyes cut across him for too long, she would tense up at the kitchen table, bracing like _she_ was the one who was about to get hit. Max wasn’t afraid of Billy anymore; but now she had a bigger person to fear. She could see firsthand what Neil was capable of.

By the time they were supposed to go back to school, Billy had already settled deep into his “don’t bother me” bog and was determined this time to keep Max out of it. While he didn’t exactly enjoy her fear and hatred, it was a great deal better than the sad looks she would send his way after every disparaging comment his dad made. Billy didn’t want Max’s _comfort_ , or whatever she was foolishly trying to offer. It made him grit his teeth that he had shrunken in size to her eyes. There was no taking it back at this point, though, Maxine had already gotten an eyeful and had been able to draw her own conclusions. And Billy was pretty downright pathetic most times when he would just retreat into his room and choose to quietly whimper through the pain instead of doing much else.

The morning they were driving back to school for their first day after break, Max finally laid all the cards out on the table.

“I know you probably still hate me, or whatever,” She said, out of the blue and startling Billy a little with the sound of her voice.

“Huh?” he flicked the volume dial down a couple of notches.

“I’m _saying,_ I know you still hate me. But I don’t hate you anymore.”

He sighed. It was too early for this. “Max, I don’t hate you. I never did.” He could feel her skepticism even without looking at her. “Do you think if I hated you, I would have got you a new skateboard? Apologized to your little boyfriend?” And yeah, that had taken a chunk out of his pride.

Max had been alright with the skateboard, but he could tell that she still hadn’t fully forgiven him yet. Three days before school started he finally snapped at her in annoyance to get her stupid walkie-talkie out; over the static he had delivered a painfully awkward apology to Sinclair that had left literal radio silence from the other boys and only a squeaky, “Okay!” from Lucas. As far as Billy was concerned, he had atoned for all his sins.

“Yeah, I know that _now_ , but I didn’t before. Not when you were threatening to mow down my friends.”

He rolled his eyes. Max could be so dramatic sometimes it just reminded him that she was still a thirteen year-old-girl. “I wasn’t going to _actually_ do it. Just my way to show brotherly love.”

“Yeah, well I think you got your wires crossed.” When he looked over now, her nose was scrunched, and her eyes were cast out the window. “You act like a raging douche half the time.”

He gave a scoff. “I know that, miss priss.” He tightened his hands on the wheel and refused to stray his eyes from the road. “It’s just how I am sometimes.”

“I don’t think so.”

He whipped his head to fully look at her this time. She was staring defiantly back as if to question him. _Yeah? What of it?_

“Oh really.”

“I think your dad’s a _real_ raging douche; and that turned you into a slightly-lesser raging douche.” It was so matter of fact it made his eye twitch. Max saw his dad beat him down a couple of times and suddenly she was an expert on everything that went on in his head?

It took all of his self-control not to punish her by speeding up the car. The only thing stopping him was the fact that his suspension was already shitty and wearing down, and the last time he had had to abruptly stop while speeding the tires had gone out of place a little bit. If he had his way, they’d be careening toward 80 by now.

Max noticed the tensions in his hands and rolled her eyes. “Oh, calm down, it’s not like I can say anything.” At that she glumly looked away.

Billy took a deep breath and then took another second to really look at her. She seemed like she was being sincere, although he couldn’t figure out why she was telling all of this to him now. He had been fine with their unspoken truce earlier, and there was just something disconcerting about the way she was bringing the subject up out of nowhere.

“You know you actually can’t say anything, right?” He tried to make eye contact so he could let her know how serious he was being. “You can’t say anything to anyone, even your little dweeb friends.”

Max crossed her arms over her chest in a huff. He could see the beginning stages of Mad Max begin to trickle through; and it brought an odd sort of comfort. “Duh, Billy, I’m not some total fucking idiot.” It was the confirmation he needed, but she continued. “I just—don’t know how you deal with it.”

“I deal with it just fine, Maxine.” This conversation was wearing him down. All he had wanted was a nice, stress-free drive to school, and he hadn’t been able to smoke a single cigarette on the ride thanks to their little chat. “Why do you even care, anyways?”

“Because it’s not fair!” Mad Max had finally burst. “it’s not fucking fair!”

Billy looked at her like she was a loon. She continued on, undeterred. “It’s not fucking fair that-that- he just _beats_ you, and—you- you just have to _take_ it.” She was shaking now at this point, and distantly Billy wondered if he should give an attempt at calming her, but she was taking deep breaths before he could reach out.

“I get why you were so douchey all the time, is what I’m saying,” she finally said after a moment. “I would probably turn into a major bitch if I had your dad.”

“You already _are_ a major bitch, Maxine,” he said, trying to diffuse the odd energy that was crackling between them. “Anyways, don’t worry about that stuff, Maxine. Just focus on yourself and you’ll be fine.” And it was good advice, the more Max kept her nose out of Billy’s business with his dad the less of a chance she would get entangled in it as well.

She still wasn’t saying anything. “Max,” he tried to not sound pleading, “You _gotta_ keep your nose out of it.”

“Yeah, but if I keep my nose out of it, what’s gonna happen when it gets really bad?” Her voice started to get small. “You didn’t leave the room for three days once. What next?”

He had no response for that; witty or otherwise. Billy kept driving and distantly realized he was pulling into the junior high parking lot, much nearer to their destination than he had realized. Once again, he felt like the conversation had pulled the rug out from under his feet and couldn’t for the life of him understand why Max was choosing to actually talk about this. There was an unspoken agreement that they didn’t acknowledge what went on in the Hargrove house past 9 o’clock and hearing her thoughts on the matter was starting to make him feel nauseated.

Max wasn’t supposed to worry about these things; she was supposed to just turn a blind eye to what was going on and continue as normal. If there was any disruption in Neil’s schedule or routine Billy shuddered to think of the consequences. There was only so much defiance and prodding he could take from Max before Billy was sure Neil would have his own limitations, and he didn’t even want to think of the dynamics of the house changing for the worse. He didn’t know what he would even be able to do if they did, after all, Billy was incapable of much help after getting a good beating from his dad. There would be no way to protect anyone. The only way he could hope to do it would be to remain in the forefront of Neil’s temper.

“Max, just don’t worry, okay?” He repeated and tried to give a tone that brooked no further arguments but was uncomfortably aware of how close to tears Max was getting. He felt the need to soothe her somewhat. “He would never go for you or your mom, you guys are a part of his perfect family.” And that was completely true, Neil would never even fathom laying a hand on his newfound daughter and loving wife, just his degenerate of a son. Max and Susan represented all the good parts of his life; while Billy served the purpose of reminding him how badly his _first_ attempt at a family went.

Max just sniffed. “ _That’s_ not what I’m worried about, you rockhead,” she said miserably, “What about _you?_ ”

They were at the sidewalk directly from the mouth of the school. Max was opening the door and shuffling out before he could try to get another word in. He didn’t even know what word he could try to get in. She immediately converged to her friends; and at the sight of her stuffy, red face they shot looks of pure hatred through the windows of the Camaro. Billy sped off. He was sick of taking the blame for everything.

Part of him desperately itched to just call the day a bust and skip, but Susan would be home and when the school would inevitably call, he couldn’t confidently say that she would vouch for him.

He accepted that he would just have to have a rotten day and started his first cigarette of the morning as he drove to school. He opted for parking further away than usual, leisurely smoking his cigarette and letting the wind wash away the smell of smoke. The cool air felt good on his skin for once, and he was happy to report no visible bruising for his first day back. Small victories.

Everyone was mostly absorbed with catching up with their friends, so Billy didn’t have to make any unnecessary interactions that would only serve to heighten his irritation. His overall absence from parties and kickbacks over the break had definitely taken its toll; he was missing his usual cronies gathered around his locker when he came in. Tommy and Carol were still sticking to their guns from last semester—which was that Billy was now considered Uncool. It was understandable. You could only be a douche for so long and combine that with getting your ass handed to you by _King Steve_ of all people knocked you down a couple of pegs on the totem pole. As for first day backs went, it was pretty okay, if not just a depressing reminder of how monotonous his life had truly gotten.

Math class was the only notable part of his day, with Steve choosing to sit next to Billy instead of across the classroom where his usual unofficial seat was.

Billy looked up startled. Steve was just casually putting his books back into his backpack when he looked up and caught Billy’s eye. Steve offered him a friendly grin, then went back to organizing his binder.

Since Steve was pretending this was completely normal, Billy wasn’t going to say anything. The only times him and Steve had seen each other over the break were those pockets of time they would spend in their respective cars waiting for the kids to come out of the arcade. He never even looked out the window when Steve started picking up Max later.

Sometimes Billy even wondered whether that conversation by the creek bed had happened at all, yet here was Steve confirming it with a single friendly glance. The bad mood Billy had been stewing in all day was starting to lose some steam and Billy decided that if _Steve_ could play it cool, so could he. At least Steve didn’t have the mind reading abilities his dad seemed to have.

The girl whose seat Steve sat in tried to raise a fuss at first, but a look from Steve had her huffing away across the classroom to his original seat. Billy uselessly tried to calm his racing heart and pay attention to their teacher at the front.

Not much happened for the rest of the class, but every so often Billy could feel Steve glance his way. Or, more accurately, towards his worksheet. Well, that at least made more sense. Billy fumed at himself for being so stupid to think that Steve sat next to him because he _wanted_ to, not because Billy had one of the highest grades in the class and Steve seemed to be incapable at any subject. It left a sour taste in his mouth and he felt his initial anger flare up again. The shitty day had gone form bad, to infinitesimally worse. Even though his mood made an uncomfortable comeback that almost left him vibrating in his seat, he still moved his left arm so Steve would have a better view of his work. It was the least he owed him, after all.

The bell rang and Billy was one of the first out of the class. Pretended he didn’t hear the squawk from Steve, who was most likely going to ask if he could see Billy’s homework tomorrow. Lunch had been cigarettes in the car with the heat blasting, and the buzz from the nicotine was starting to turn his empty stomach. Basketball season was over, and Billy didn’t feel like signing up for whatever winter sport Hawkins High had to offer; it seemed like there was always a sore spot or tender muscle in Billy’s back these days.

He was planning on giving himself a neat forty-five minutes to smoke the joint in his car before he would leave to pick Max up. He decided he would pass out in his bed the second they got home after the taxing day.

Instead, Steve ambushed him again exactly as he did last time, only this time when Billy breezed out the double doors Steve jumped from the wall instead of pushing Billy up against it. It still looked too similar to the first time and Billy ended up tensing on instinct. _And the hits keep coming,_ he miserably thought to himself. Metaphorically and physically.

But Steve didn’t seem to have that idea in mind, because he immediately held his palms open in surrender. “Woah man, I’m not trying to start anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Billy eyed him distrustfully, wondering why Steve was being agreeable to _Billy_ of all people.

He stood there for a second, shifting between his feet and waiting. Steve seemed like he was searching for the right thing to say, before anxiously running a hand through his ridiculous hair.

“You, uh, got a minute?”

Billy nodded, didn’t trust his voice. Steve nodded at that, unconsciously mirroring him. “Sweet. Here, let’s go to my car.”

And that was how Billy found himself trailing behind Steve to get in that luxurious red Beamer he found at the side of the road all those weeks ago. This would be the first time he actually sat in Steve’s car. The light leather interior was something to marvel a bit over, and he stroked the side of the seat with his thumb to feel the cool, smooth material. Steve cleared his throat and Billy guiltily shoved his hands in his lap and looked back around. Steve looked more nervous than Billy felt.

“So, here’s the thing. I’m bad at school. Like, really bad. Like, so abysmally bad that I’m about to fail this math class and have to take it again in the _summer._ Don’t get me wrong, I suck at literally almost every other subject too, but I failed the exam for the first semester. That, combined with the fact that I’ve been rocking a straight 65 the entire last semester means that I have to pick up the slack _this_ semester if I even want a chance to graduate.” He finally took a deep breath in and his eyes sought out Billy desperately. God, Harrington knew how to talk. The words had come out a mile a minute and he hadn’t taken a breath in between words at all. If Billy attempted even half that speech at that speed, he would get mush mouth in seconds. “That’s where you come in.”

“Listen, Harrington,” Billy cut in, scratching his jaw uneasily, “If you wanna copy off me—”

“What? No!” Steve looked aghast. “I want you to _tutor_ me.”

Billy gaped. “ _Tutor_ you?”

Steve looked at him like he was thick now. “Uh, yes? What part of ‘I fail this math class and I have to take it again in the summer’ did you not get?”

“What makes you think I can tutor you?” Billy challenged, still thrown by the left turn Steve’s confrontation had taken.

“Because you’re one of the smartest kids in the class? I know you do pretty well in your other classes, too,” He was trying to catch Billy’s eyes now, which were directly pointed through the windshield. “I need to actually _understand_ the material, or I’m just gonna end up failing the final exam anyway.”

“Okay,” Billy allowed, “But why _me?_ Isn’t Wheeler some sort of brainiac? Isn’t there anyone else in the class you’d wanna actually get help from?”

“Yeah, I’d rather not ask my ex to help me with my _math homework_ , no matter how good of terms we’re on. It’s kind of degrading, dude.” He fixed Billy with a look. “Besides, you’re the only one in the class I _do_ wanna get help from, why else would I be asking you?”

Billy scrubbed a hand over his face and felt like he had stumbled through some alternate universe. “I don’t know, man, I would just _assume_ you don’t wanna get tutored by the guy that beat your face in.”

Steve waved his hand in a “forget about it” gesture. “Eh, that’s in the past. I thought we squashed that beef that night all those weeks ago when you decided to come looking for me by the creek.” He now had a smirk on his face. “Anyhow, I’m supposedly the one who beat _your_ face in, if you remember.”

Steve seemed to be completely serious about both their reconciliation and the favor he was asking of Billy. Steve didn’t want to just cheat off him; he was willing to actually spend time _with_ Billy in order to get a better grade. It was kind of sad that these were the depths that had to be sunk to in order for Steve Harrington to seek out his presence, but Billy wasn’t going to let that get him down _too_ much. Besides, spending the entirety of winter break by himself had made him kind of desperate for contact outside of those living in his house. If Steve was willing to put up with Billy for a couple hours to improve his grades, he wasn’t going to talk him out of it.

Steve was waiting on an answer, his leg bouncing up and down uncontrollably. Billy decided to take pity. “Alright, _Steve_ , sure. I’ll tutor you in math.”

“Thank _fuck_ dude,” Steve almost groaned. Billy felt a flash of heat run down his neck. “My dad has been riding my ass about this grade for—well.” He cut himself off. “Thanks.”

Billy itched to keep them in the car for as long as possible. A conversation with Steve was better than any old joint in his glove compartment. “Your dad strict?”

Steve made a so-so gesture with his hand. “Eh, he’s a hardass when he’s home, _but_ seeing as he’s not home most of the time it’s pretty easy to deal with. Math is just kind of _his_ thing, so he doesn’t understand why it’s never been mine.”

Billy couldn’t relate. Neil Hargrove didn’t have a mind for numbers _or_ for literature, and as far as he knew his dad had probably barely gotten by in the swamp school he had been raised in. The only thing he could give his dad was his knowledge of history; Neil was known to impress a group of people with the facts he could rattle off the top of his head. It made sense, his dad always like to talk about the past and _repeating itself._

“So, what _is_ your thing?” Because it didn’t seem like Steve was that academically inclined. Not that Billy knew the guy’s report card or anything, but Tommy had yapped his ear off enough about Steve in the first semester for him to glean some information.

“Um, I don’t know honestly. But I know it’s not math.” And Steve didn’t even look ashamed at all by the admission. “What about you? Your folks get onto you about grades?”

The implication behind _folks_ made Billy shift uncomfortably in his seat. He was aware that if he staunchly corrected Steve on Max being his _step_ -sister right now that could open up an avenue into questions about Billy’s own mom. He wasn’t in a good enough mood to jump into that right now. Instead he settled on, “Nah, they don’t get onto me for my grades too much.” Which was true. Neil never had to worry about Billy’s grades, it was just everything else in his life he seemed concerned with.

“Oh yeah, I forgot. I’m talking to the resident genius of Hawkins.” Steve rolled his eyes.

“Excuse me?” Billy quirked a brow. “What makes you think that?”

“ _Hello_? It’s all Nancy talks about, how you’re gunning for valedictorian right under her nose. It completely drives her crazy, I’m gonna be honest.”

Now it was Billy’s turn to roll his eyes. “I’m not _gunning_ for jack shit. If I just so _happen_ to make better grades than Wheeler . . .”

Steve crowed with laughter. “God, I wish she could hear this right now. She’s studying _as we speak_ , and you’re clowning on her and her poor efforts.” His shoulders were shaking.

His laughter was infectious, and Billy felt the corners of his mouth tug into a smile before he could stop himself. God, he had been going about it all wrong before. There was nothing better than a Steve Harrington smiling at you; Billy should have approached with honey instead of vinegar in the beginning.

“Well, I guess I’ll let you go. Gotta pick up Dustin in a bit, I’m sure you gotta pick up Max, too.”

A glance at the clock told him Steve was correct. He only had like twenty minutes now to smoke that joint, but he knew he’d be riding the high from this conversation for the rest of the night, at least. “Right, gotcha. When did you wanna meet up, I guess?”

Steve smacked his forehead. “ _Shit_. I literally forgot the point of the conversation. Right, so, my house is almost always available, but if you didn’t wanna drive I could come to yours.”

Billy was nodding before he even finished the sentence. “Nah, we can do it at yours, my house is too packed.” In the small Hargrove house four people felt like suffocation, five and he knew he’d be listening to every creak and noise anxiously.

“Okay, that’s cool. Listen, man, I’m not gonna lie: I’m like _ridiculously_ bad at math. As in, you’ll probably need to reteach me some stuff.” At this Steve started to look a little uneasy. Admitting he was bad at a subject Billy was good at was obviously difficult to him, and Billy passed the opportunity up for teasing where he normally would have taken it.

“Alright, then. So, you wanna, like, meet up a couple days after school a week?” He felt uncomfortable asking, like Steve would somehow be able to tell that Billy wasn’t exactly doing this out of the kindness of his heart. It felt kind of skeevy to agree to tutor Steve just because he had a crush on him, but he figured if Steve got a good grade out of it at least they were _both_ benefitting.

But Steve just looked relieved. “Yes, perfect. If you’re cool with it, we can do Tuesday and Thursdays?”

Billy was more than cool with it. “Sounds like a plan.” Two days a week after school with Steve sounded like the reward for something he didn’t even know he did. The math part would be easy; it was the playing it cool part that he would have to watch out for. There was no way he could let Steve know how _eager_ he was to get some one-on-one time.

He shook a cigarette out of the pack from his pocket and lit it before Harrington could say anything else. Today was Monday, they were already going to be meeting tomorrow. Billy had to make an exit so he could spend the rest of the afternoon turning every word from this conversation over in his head. It was better to make the getaway now than to wait for Steve to kick him out if his car. “See you tomorrow, pretty boy.” He exited the vehicle.

~

Max was suspicious of his lingering grin when he picked her up, but she probably attributed it to the skunky smell still lingering in the car. She wrinkled her nose in disgust and made sure to roll the window down all the way, trying to air out before the smell could stick to her clothes. At least she was still thinking; Neil would absolutely _hate_ it if her clothes smelled like smoke or otherwise. Billy couldn’t be bothered to care much, though, tomorrow he was _tutoring Steve Harrington_.

Billy didn’t mind the breeze; the combined buzz from his joint plus the wholly satisfying interaction with Steve after school had him tapping his steering wheel energetically with the beat of his music. He was even being nice and playing KC and the Sunshine band for Max, who had eyed him distrustfully at first before deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth. His sunny state-of-mind stuck all the way to his arrival at home, where Susan was the only one in the house currently. He didn’t know what she was cooking but it smelled good.

He collapsed into bed with a manic grin on his face. He went from having one of the worst mornings to such a blisteringly bright afternoon he didn’t know what to do with all the leftover euphoria. The weed was making his eyes feel a little heavy, so he went ahead with his original plan of passing out. Neil dragged him out of bed by his hair for dinner, later, but not even that was enough to dampen his mood.

~

Steve’s house was _nice._ House was actually an understatement, the place was actually one of the McMansions located in Loch Nora, which shouldn’t have been a surprise considering where he had found the BMW parked that night. Billy drove behind Harrington the entire ride over and had wondered more than once why he was so obsessed with someone who drove so _slowly_.

The entire bottom floor could fit probably _two_ Hargrove houses, and it was kind of spooky to imagine being here alone all the time. He told Steve as much, to which the other boy snorted and said, “You have no idea.”

While Billy would kill to have the house fully empty once in a while, something about Harrington’s house just felt . . . cold. The house reminded him of a museum almost, like there was no one living in it. That didn’t seem like that would go over well, though, and Billy was already walking on eggshells. When it came to Harrington it seemed like the best course was to probably run his thoughts through a filter before sharing them with him.

They parked it in the dining room. The room was bathed in warm light, and in the corner sat an elaborate china cabinet that held crystal cutlery in it that was probably worth more than Billy’s existence. The dining table was long and elaborately decorated; but the directions were from fall and most of them were covered in a fine layer of dust. There were some family pictures hanging on the wall and on some shelves, and Billy wished he had his glasses so he could get a better look without seeming to obvious about it. Before now he hadn’t even realized how badly he needed to see a picture of Steve as a kid, and he made silent plans that sooner or later he’d get an opportunity to get a good look.

Steve paid the stylish set-up no mind and folded back the autumn-leave embroidered table runner. The spread everything out on the table and set to work. Billy was nervous to begin at first, but Steve was quick to point out how even today’s lesson had completely flown over his head which got them to it pretty quickly.

Steve hadn’t been exaggerating about how behind he was. Billy found himself slowly inching back further into the material they’d covered so far, and Steve could never confidently say he remembered everything they’d learned in past units. Once they figured out the foundations to build on, they’d be able to move through the work through it more steadily. Billy still had some old graded quizzes and homework sheets he’d taken home back in California, and he brought them with him for some extra practice runs. Steve raised his eyebrows at the cluster of papers meticulously pinned together by a paperclip he had snagged from Max’s jar on her desk. It hadn’t occurred to Billy that that might come across as overeager, and he hated that he had shown his cards too early. There weren’t any explanations he could think of that didn’t sound defensive.

There hadn’t been anything to be defensive over, though, because Steve didn’t comment on them after all. Billy sat them to the side and told himself he’d just leave them in his backpack for the other sessions.

It wasn’t just a lack of knowledge on Steve’s part that held him back, but rather a lack of knowledge _plus_ the inability to use the knowledge he already had. Billy noticed that Steve had a habit of mixing the numbers in the questions, and Billy often had to rewrite the equations in the margin so Steve could keep checking back. He also noticed that Steve completely avoided word problems if he could help it; every time they would attempt one they would sit in an awkward silence until Billy would read through the problem and point out what properties represented what. Harrington had made comments here and there about how his English grade was suffering as well, and Billy wondered if his class was also working through the same books as Billy’s. Steve seemed to avoid anything longer than two sentences if he could help it. Billy didn’t feel comfortable saying any of his observations to Steve, though, he was afraid it would come across as just him being a dick again.

For what he lacked in initial understanding he made up for in willingness to learn. Once Billy would go over something a couple of times, along with writing the equations in bold off to the sides, Steve would be able to wrap his head around what to do. He had a good predisposition for plugging in numbers and working them until he got the answer, but it was just a matter of checking his work along the way to make sure he was still on the right track. He groaned as Billy explained it.

“Yeah, I know, I know. Sometimes the numbers just mix up or I remember them wrong, and _then_ I’m sat there looking at four _completely different_ answer choices than the one I got and—”

“That’s why you just gotta write the equation in the side,” Billy insisted, “Every time you get confused you just look back to it to make sure you’re still doing good.”

Steve scrubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah, okay sure, but then halfway through the test when someone looks over at my sheet they’re gonna think, ‘damn, Harrington needs to write his shit in big letters so his big, dumb, brain can read?’ It’s sad enough that I have to basically fucking underline it to see it in the first place.”

“Well, funny that you think anyone will be looking at _your_ sheet during a test,” he said, trying to defuse the tension. Steve snorted and slugged him in the shoulder. Billy continued on, though, aware that academics was somewhat of a sore spot with the other boy. “Anyways, everyone does stuff to help them understand shit. Even brainiacs like Wheeler. Probably _especially_ brainiacs like Wheeler.”

“Not you!” Steve was quick to say. “You literally sit there and finish the homework before she’s done with the lesson. You use like, one paper for scratchwork.” Billy wondered when Steve had been watching him closely enough to see that. “And here I am, having to bold and underline shit because my mind is too stupid to remember it. Or understand it the first time I read it.”

“Harrington, _no one_ understands shit the first time they—”

Steve rolled his eyes so hard Billy felt tempted to tell him they’d get stuck that way. “Yeah, okay, says the genius. I haven’t seen you drawing boxes around questions.”

Billy shook his head and went to grab his backpack. Steve’s had shot out and gripped his wrist hard. He was proud that he didn’t show any visible reaction, but the heat from Harrington’s hand was making his heart race. “Wait, man, I wasn’t trying to—”

“Calm down, Harrington,” he grunted, shaking his wrist free and proceeding to rifle through his pack for his English folder. When he found what he was looking for he shoved it under Steve’s nose.

“What is this?” his pretty brow furrowed. Billy tried to keep his mind on the subject at hand rather than going down a rabbit hole analyzing Steve’s face.

“My English work. Look at the margins.” In all the packets of homework there were notes scribbled over almost every available inch. “Every time I get through a paragraph, I have to write what happens in it right next to it. Sometimes it’s hard to remember what happens, or what it means, so I always have to write it down so I can get my thoughts together.”

Steve was still looking at his notes. Billy scratched his jaw self-consciously. “Listen, man, everyone has to, ya know, make _accommodations_. It just depends on how you learn.”

Another beat passed. Steve didn’t say anything, and Billy’s neck started feeling hot under his collar. Once again, he’d been too transparent in Harrington’s presence and he was sick of feeling foolish. He went to pluck the papers from Steve’s hands, but he kept a firm grip on them. Billy gave him a look, starting to feel his insecurity turn into anger. “Harrington. I’m trying to help you out here. If you—”

“No-no, I’m just. You know you’re like, super smart, right?” He waved the papers. “Billy, we’re not even in the same _league_. You have to take notes because you actually have, like, ideas running through your head. I don’t even want to _tell_ you what I got on my last English essay.”

Billy tried to cut in, but Steve fixed him with a glare. “Don’t even try arguing with me. It’s different. This is like . . . you trying to curb how smart you are. I’m, like, trying to accommodate my stupidity.”

“You're not _stupid_ , Harrington,” he said forcefully, hoping that using his last name would take away from some of the sincerity he was painfully bearing. “Chris O’Malley is stupid. Fucking . . . Jenny Hampshire is stupid. Trust me, you’re not stupid. The only reason why I’m acing this class so well is because I’ve taken this class _before_. Do you know how many people can’t write stupid _essays?_ ”

Steve still didn’t look convinced. Billy soldiered on. “Listen, man, school is just doing busy work. No one even likes school; I guarantee you half the class right now needs to draw boxes around the questions. You just gotta figure out what works for you and just keep going with it. Don’t fix it if it ain’t broke.”

Finally, Steve let himself deflate with a sigh. He tossed the pencil back onto the table, where they both watch it roll toward the middle centerpiece. “Yeah, okay. You’re right. Not like I’m gonna do anything with calculus in my life.”

“What _do_ you wanna do, Harrington?” Billy was curious, Tommy had told him a little bit about Steve’s dad’s business enterprise but that didn’t seem to be something Steve would get into. You had to have a mind for numbers to get any business degree, and if Harrington couldn’t get high school calculus there was no way he’d stand a chance in a college statistics class.

“Uh-h-h, I honestly couldn’t tell you. I used to think I’d probably work with my dad’s company, but now I’m not so sure.” He started to look a little cagey. “I don’t know. I’m still thinking. What about you?” The last part sounded accusatory.

“Mechanical engineer.” Billy said matter-of-factly. The guidance counselor back in California had planted the idea in his head after he had seen Billy’s test scores for physics, along with all the accelerated-learning math classes he had taken since freshman year. Working on his Camaro and his dad’s last car had given him an anatomical mind; and most times he was itching to take things apart just to have the satisfaction of putting it back together again. It was ironic considering him and Steve’s tumultuous relationship.

“And how do you know that’s what you wanna do?”

He shrugged. “Someone told me I’d be good at it. I’m good at physics, and I like math pretty okay so I figured that would be the way to go.” It was kind of an understatement; that afternoon Billy had driven to the nearest local library to pick up different books on engineering to see if there had been any worth the what the counselor had said. Once he’d found mechanical engineering, it was the sort of thing he kept close to his chest in fear that his dad would somehow take it away from him too.

“See!” Steve seized upon the end of his statement. “You’re good at something and you also happen to like it. I don’t even know what I would be good at.”

“Daycare?” Billy offered, half joking. If there was anything Steve seemed to excel in it was keeping his patience around a group of rowdy thirteen-year old’s. Billy knew for a fact that he got the best deal of them; there was no way Max could scream his ear off for an entire ride no matter what kind of mood she was in.

Steve shrugged him in the shoulder again. The tense mood had dissipated, and Billy almost sighed in relief. He was afraid after this disastrous first tutoring lesson Steve would tell him to never come back; Billy hadn’t expected a full-on existential crisis to hit while they were going over _derivatives of polynomials._ An irrational part of himself had been afraid that Steve would throw his hands up and say, “I quit!” at some point or kick him out for overstepping into his business.

A glance at the ornate clock on the wall said that it was 7:48, and while Billy’s dad knew that he would be studying with a classmate and wouldn’t be at dinner tonight, it still gave him the compulsory stab of fear seeing that it was past 7 and he wasn’t home. Being almost an hour late to a family dinner even in the hypothetical sense was enough to send a tiny shutter through his shoulder. Steve took that for Billy being antsy to get home and started gathering his stuff. “Sorry for keeping you man, I didn’t mean to talk your ear off.”

‘Nah, it’s cool.” Billy tried to sound natural to counteract how quick he had been to disagree with Steve.

The moment was done, though, and Billy knew when it was time to make a quick getaway. Any longer and he’d just end up irritating Harrington by clinging around like shit to a shovel. He had to keep reminding himself that Steve had chosen him to tutor because he had one of the highest grades in the class, and also that the other “smart” kids were probably too weird for even denounced King Steve to lower himself to communicate. Billy was the Devil he knew, and Billy shouldn’t be so quick to believe that they were steering toward something like friends. Billy didn’t have actual _friends_ , and he didn’t have friends that were like Steve Harrington either. It was a bit of a wake-up call, but it was also the cold douse of water he’d needed.

Driving back home the closer and closer he got to his house the more he started to feel that tension creep up his spine. Even though it had gotten kind of charged in the end, Billy realized the entire time he’d spent tutoring Steve at his house was the first time in weeks he’d finally felt _relaxed_. The heater had been on, the room had been bathed in a yellow-ish light, and there weren’t any background sounds of the T.V. or his dad’s antique radio droning on. Not only that, but there had been some kind of illicit thrill in being in a home that was completely devoid of parents. Billy felt his dad’s looming presence over his shoulder every waking second he was at home. He was careful to not play his music too loudly in his room, or accidentally slam a door in fear of retribution. While the Harrington household was creepy in its detachment, there was something comforting in the silence that swept the whole house. Steve had also had every room lit up that he could see, and that was another oddity that kind of added to the feeling of comfort. God forbid Billy leave the light on in his room while he was at school; if Neil found out there would be hell to pay.

No, tutoring Steve Harrington was no hardship as far as Billy was concerned. Twice a week he’d get to pop over to reteach math and he would get the payment of a couple hours away from his house and an infinite amount of moments to gaze at Steve without the other boy looking. It was almost too good to be true, which made Billy nervous. Usually when something was good for him, the universe had a funny way of taking it back from him tenfold.

Billy parked his car in the driveway and sat there for a second, catching his breath. The second had gone on too long though, apparently, because the porch light flicked twice. He wondered how his dad possibly had the time to stand by the door and wait for his Camaro’s lights to shine through the living room window, but he made sure he didn’t stall in turning his car off. It wouldn’t do him any good to make his dad impatient.


	2. the tide is high but i'm holding on, i'm gonna be your number one

Tutoring sessions with Billy were . . . surprising to say the least. Earlier in the year Ms. Gardner had sniffed out his ineptitude pretty quickly and had actually recommended Billy specifically to help him out. She said he had an “affinity for numbers”. This had been only days after Billy’s dramatic arrival, and Steve had already heard more than enough of him at that point. The direct confrontation about his poor performance in class had left him in a sour mood. Hargrove had only been in Hawkins for a brief amount of time, but he was already at a better pace with the class than Steve had been since the beginning of the year. One look at Billy Hargrove and he could hardly believe _that_ was supposed to be the math whiz who was supposed to save his average. He’d told Ms. Gardner he’d think about it with no actual intentions to do so.

And then Billy had become a massive thorn in his side. The guy went from being a general nuisance to an actual fixed point of tension in his life. Steve, who had been used to being on top for so long and was still kind of coming to terms with his newfound unpopularity, was not thrilled to be the focal point of all of Billy’s aggression. Even when he was at his douchiest he was never the one to push it _too_ far, and none of his ribbing really ever got that personal. Billy, though, was dark sided. There was a crackling energy that always seemed to follow Billy around, and he wondered whether it was his shitty luck or just the universe outright hating him that made Billy want to take him down so badly. And Billy had taken him down.

He’d never admit it to anyone else, but Billy beating his face in had been the best part of that shitty night. It had been the only _human_ and _natural_ action performed out of all the horrible things that night, and it was something that he at least understood.

Yeah, maybe beating someone bloody and into a pulp because of a misunderstanding was an over-reaction in the highest regard, but if Steve had the choice again he’d face anything Billy Hargrove related over anything to do with the Upside Down any day.

It had also felt good to deal with the human reactions that happened _after_ the event. Steve hadn’t expected to come to school and be hailed the “winner”. To be honest, it hadn’t even occurred to him that there would be any significance with the fight until Tommy had clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Heard you showed Hargrove who’s boss. Good job, man, California had it coming.” Steve had thought it was some elaborate punchline; some weird roundabout way to call him a pussy, but one look at Hargrove had confirmed what Tommy had mistakenly assumed. Billy’s face looked a hell of a lot worse than his, and it boggled Steve’s mind that he had somehow come out on top in the situation.

His initial anger with Billy had far outweighed his confusion, though, and at first it had felt good to confront Hargrove after school. It had felt even better to punch his face afterwards, but then that’s when Steve had taken a good look at him. That night Billy didn’t have much visible bruising, which was a total contrast to how he looked now. Now, there was something about how Billy already looked like a wreck and was asking for _more_. In that moment, Steve had finally got the first good read on Billy that no one had done yet in Hawkins.

Getting beaten up that night had only felt good because it was a distraction; something that hadn’t kept him tethered to the situation at the time, for good reason. Jonathon beating him up was something he hadn’t meant to seek out; and while he technically hadn’t set out to capture Billy’s wrath, the two had been wholly different. Steve had seen Billy with some bruises, here and there, and wondered what the other boy possibly could be getting into. It was obvious to Billy, getting into fights was his form of distraction.

Only, after Steve had punched him that day after school there hadn’t been any satisfaction or anything like that on his face. Instead, he had just laid there and took it. There was no surprise there, either, like it was something he just had expected to happen. In that moment Steve had felt something like nausea roiling in his gut for giving Billy just what he’d asked for. He had given Billy a wide berth after that, too discomfited by that expression he’d seen on Billy’s face as he laid in the grass.

Then that weird fluke of a night happened and had left him feeling uncharacteristically charitable after the fact. Billy had seemed oddly concerned about why he had been by himself at a creek in the middle of the night but had also been tactful enough to not bombard Steve with questions. Steve, who had had his fill of tactless miscommunication over the past year, had appreciated it for the kindness it was.

Billy jumping out of his skin at his touch, along with the bruises that most certainly spoke of the aftermath of a fight, only served to prove Steve’s theory that Billy turned to violence when he was stressed, or angry. Or maybe just any major emotion that he didn’t want to face head-on. Physical violence seemed to always be the answer to the question, and Steve figured that night in November shouldn’t be taken personally. Antagonism seemed to be burned in Billy’s blood.

He was the only one who didn’t take it personally, though, if Tommy’s attitude could be judged by anything. While he had congratulated Steve that first day, they still hadn’t resumed their friendship after that. Tommy was much warmer to him, though, and seemed to take a particular delight in _Steve_ being the one to give Billy a taste of his own medicine. Billy was noticeably absent from the large table in the cafeteria that Tommy and Carol took up with the rest of their sheep and wasn’t at ant at any of the tables nearby, either. Steve had been pathetically sitting in the courtyard with Nancy and Jonathon, where he valiantly pretended that their hands weren’t clutched tightly together under the table they all shared.

It was obvious that Billy really had rubbed people the wrong way. His snippy attitude seemed to extend toward the whole school population, boys and girls alike. Suddenly the cool dude from California was just the giant asshole that he had always said he was. Steve had wondered how any of them had fooled themselves into thinking Billy was their friend in the first place; Billy seemed like the type to be fine drifting from person to person, sometimes with large gaps of inaction in between. Even when he had seen Billy joking and ribbing with the other boys in the locker room there was still some kind of . . . look on Billy’s face. Steve couldn’t describe it, but he knew for a fact that there was no one in Hawkins that Billy considered an actual _friend._ Steve didn’t delude himself into thinking an awkward joint shared between them in the middle of the night made them friends, but at least it was a truce of some sorts.

Then, winter break had happened. Steve was the unofficial babysitter/chauffer for the Party, something that he would grumble about in front of them occasionally but would secretly get a warm feeling in his chest about the feeling of being wanted and useful. Every so often when he was carpooling, he would get glimpses of Billy whenever Max was getting dropped off or picked up. Quick glances were shared through their respective cars, but that was all that happened.

Max nervously asking him one afternoon after a movie if they could speak alone came as a bit of a shock. He really never spent time with Max, mostly their interactions were through the rest of the Party. Steve liked her, though, she was the least loud _and_ least annoying of everyone, and when you were on her good side, she could have you in stitches with the mean streak she possessed. It was something that whenever he saw, he thought Billy was probably the same way and that’s who she had picked it up from. The second his mind made that comparison, he realized that that was probably what Max had wanted to talk about.

Billy, who had dropped her off just two hours ago so she could see Gremlin with the boys, looked _rough._ It seemed like every time Steve saw him, now, his lip or brow was always split. And earlier, even though the tint of the windows, Steve could tell that Billy had been sporting some fresh bruises on his face. He knew that Billy’s quick rise to the top was now toppling hard, as well. While Steve hadn’t been able to gain back his previous ranking of royalty, he _was_ still relevant enough to get the random party invites. Steve had gone to a couple, more out of the fact of sheer loneliness rather than wanting to get back into the party scene, and never saw Billy.

Apparently, he had been dodging invites and parties the entire break, and it was something that made all of the Hawkins’ ant trail of popular kids grit their teeth angrily. They all still craved his approval, even though it was hard won and so rarely given. As far as they were concerned, if Billy wasn’t going to play the game then he wasn’t going to get any part in the winnings.

It didn’t seem like the type of thing for Billy to do, and while Steve really didn’t know Billy when it came down to it, it was still something he found discomfiting.

So, Max had asked if they could talk in private, and Steve was quick to pick up on the anxiety practically pouring out of her. Dustin had looked like he wanted to protest, but Steve shoved him through the open door of the front passenger seat and told him to scram for a sec. Max wasn’t usually one to look this high strung, and each passing second was making him more and more uneasy.

She picked at the loose string on the side of her Converse while Steve waited patiently. He noted her face was wildly pale. At the time, he had thought it was simply a redhead thing, but afterwards he realized she was probably deathly scared to steer towards the subject even tentatively on her mind.

“So, I know we don’t talk much, or like, at all.” She switched to running the pad of her thumb over the patent leather seat, something that he would see Billy mirror almost exactly just a couple weeks later, “But I need to ask you a favor. If you can’t do it feel free to say no.” She said the last part forcefully, communicating with her eyes the seriousness with which she meant.

Steve, who was cautious not to make any sudden noises or movements in fear of spooking her further, only nodded. He was extremely weirded out by the feelings radiating off of Max now, her stress was starting to make him feel a little frayed at the edges too.

“If you can . . . would you be able to pick me up and drop me off sometimes?” She looked like the words were sour leaving her mouth.

Steve felt bad for her. It looked like it had been physically painful to prey those words out, and her face had switched from deathly pale to a bright red flush making its way from her ears to her neck.

“Of course, Max,” he was cautious to not sound overly-nice or understanding; Max seemed to have the most social smarts of the Party and would be able to pick up on any insincerity or dishonesty in his voice. He needed to ask the next part, though, just to quell the curiosity that had been building and building impossibly over the course of the break, “Why can’t Billy drive you anymore?”

Because that was the crux of the matter. Steve’s mounting obsession with Billy was desperate enough to prod the guys’ younger sister for answers. Ever since that night at the creek, Billy had been content to just fade into the background and Steve hadn’t been content to let him do so. Yeah, it had been awkward a little bit after that night where he had embarrassingly asked Billy to use his first name, but he had been determined to give the other boy the space he seemed to so desperately crave. He _had_ thought that after a little bit of recovery time they probably could be more civil to each other. There was this sort of quiet desperation attached to Billy that Steve somehow seemed to resonate with, and he had found himself stealing glances at Billy in calculus to try to catch another glimpse of it. The only time it seemed to come out was when he was in a bad mood, though, and Steve was kind of sick of being on the other end of one of Billy’s moods.

It felt like they had traded spaces, with Billy buzzing in his ear like a fly at first, to now _Steve_ being the one who clung like a gnat. Nancy and Jonathon actively disapproved of his sudden fascination, and he wasn’t stupid enough to let Dustin and Co. know anything about it. Here he was, though, giving Max a tentative version of the third degree just to scratch that itch in the back of his head that always concerned Billy.

It had been the wrong thing to ask. Max’s face went beet red, and Steve watched as her face scrunched tightly in the middle as if she were trying to physically fight back tears. Steve started to panic, distantly aware that they were still in the movie theater parking lot with Dustin standing almost _right outside the car_ , screaming his head off about the movie to the other boys. Having a thirteen-year-old girl that close to tears in his car had been a first, and something he never wanted to repeat.

Max recovered quickly, though, and once she got herself together, she had felt good enough to send a disgusted glare at the crumpled napkin he had offered her from the side pocket of his car. “Ew,” she said, batting it away, “I’m _fine._ ”

But she clearly wasn’t, though Steve was reluctant to point it out in fear that she’d somehow turn on him. It seemed like Max was precariously on the edge of revealing something, and he didn’t want her to get cold feet and end it there.

She was fidgeting in the seat. “He’s had a rough break.” Is what she finally offered in response to his previous question. He encouraged her to keep talking by being silent, aware now that she needed to build herself up to these things. He was afraid of making a misstep, which seemed to be something he excelled at. Running his big mouth was probably one of his worst qualities but was also why he probably got along with Dustin the most.

Being quiet was the right thing to do in this situation, though, because he could see Max slowly start to defrost at the edges.

“I’m really sorry about that night!” She finally blurted into the silence. “When Billy beat you up, I mean.” She bit her lip so hard it looked painful. Like she was trying to still keep something in.

This was where Steve was really taken off guard, though, and didn’t know how to respond. It was hard knowing that probably every word he spoke was being over analyzed, but he still didn’t have clue of what was the right thing to say in the moment. “Uh, Max, you don’t—”

“I know you probably hate him and think he’s crazy person, but he’s not.” She was now vehemently interjecting, like if she didn’t start it now, she never would. “ _I_ thought he was a total douchebag for the longest time too, but.... I can’t tell you.” She finally finished miserably. “I wish I could tell you. It would make so much more sense.”

Steve was getting concerned she might start crying again. Max had started to get that watery sheen over her eyes, and it made Steve feel even more out-of-sorts with the conversation happening. “What do you mean? What can’t you tell me?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said gloomily, staring down at her scuffed shoes now and steadfastly avoiding eye contact. “Billy is just . . . it’s complicated. But I know that deep down he probably didn’t mean to hurt you that bad.”

“Max,” he was still trying to be as delicate as possible, aware that the conversation could turn on its head at any point, “You know Billy’s already apologized, right? I don’t hate him. Although I won’t argue with you on the crazy part.”

She ignored his last statement. “What?!” her jaw was hanging open. Steve thought about making a joke about catching flies but figured now probably wasn’t a good time. She looked completely upended by the information. “What do you mean _he apologized?_ ”

God, he forgot how dramatic middle schoolers could be, no matter how Max was probably the most mature out of all of them. “We hashed it out. He explained, said he was sorry, and now we’re cool.” Which wasn’t exactly the truth, but it wasn’t like they had any active beef between them nowadays. Maybe being cool with Billy just simply meant he wouldn’t beat you up. He would take whatever he could get.

“What did he explain?” she demanded.

He was taken aback. “Um, I mean, his like, attitude issues, I guess? He said he had been having a rough night.” Max look stumped at that. “Why? Was there a different explanation?”

Max went right back to nervously fidgeting; yanking so hard on the string in her shoes he wondered if she would pull out a couple of inches of stitching. Tension seemed to be the cornerstone of both her and Billy’s attitudes. She still didn’t answer.

“Max,” he leaned forward, hoping this would make her catch his eye. She did it, but grudgingly. “Is everything okay with Billy? You don’t feel . . . unsafe with him, do you?” Steve hated asking it, but Max was just acting so bizarrely he had to cover all bases.

“No!” She was quick to deny, which made Steve take in a sigh of relief. He had thought that Billy was giving the kids less grief lately, if their loud conversations in the back told him anything. So far, the entire break Billy hadn’t tried to run down _any_ of them with his car and this was considered an incredible feat amongst the boys. He wondered how far Max had really gotten to Billy; that November night while she had been driving Billy’s car, she had savagely sworn revenge and Steve had fully believed her in that moment.

“No!” She repeated, still thinking Steve didn’t believe her. “God, aren’t you listening to me?”

“Max, I’m trying here.” He pleaded, starting to grow desperate, “You’re kind of freaking me out.”

“Look— “She started to say, looking just as comfortable trying to reassure Steve as he felt by being reassured by her. She started differently this time, “I have something else to ask you. It’s another favor.”

“Okay . . .” He raised his eyebrows, trailing off.

“It’s a big one.” She was facing him head-on again. “If you said no to this one, I would understand.”

“Alright, shoot.”

“And you can’t tell _any_ of the Party I asked you this, not even Dustin. Especially Dustin.”

He wavered a little. It wasn’t a matter of him blabbing Max’s secrets to the other boy; but rather Steve didn’t feel right committing to obscuring anything from Dustin. If there was anyone that had been there for him the most throughout the past year, it was Dustin. Pathetic as it was, it was the cold hard truth. Instead he settled on, “Max, you’re making me worried again. What is it?”

But Max was undeterred. “You have to swear you won’t tell them, even if you say no!” She was getting red again.

“Okay, Okay! I swear.” At Max’s dubious look he rolled his eyes and spat in his palm, holding it out. She batted it away with a wrinkled nose. “Now can you tell me what this favor is?”

She still looked wary. Steve tried to give an encouraging nod. She blew him out of the water with what she asked next.

“Could you check on Billy sometimes?” Steve had flown back in shock. “I know that you don’t owe me anything, and I know you sure as hell don’t owe _him_ anything . . . but—I. I don’t know. He’s been really freaking me out over the break.”

“How has he been freaking you out?” He couldn’t imagine what it was like actually living with Billy, and the thought came unbidden to his mind before he could stop it. Rather than letting his mind go down that particular rabbit hole, he turned his attention back to Max.

“I can’t . . . I wish I could _tell_ you. God!” She angrily smacked the side of the car. At the noise, the boys outside started squawking indignantly. Distantly Steve could hear Dustin saying something about _freezing out here,_ but he knew it hadn’t been that long and he was overdramatic anyways. Max noticed the boys still huddled outside, complaining now, and looked guilty, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Don’t mind them, they can freeze.”

She looked at him, still looking unsure but seemingly determined to have the conversation. She took a deep breath in. “He doesn’t ever come out of his room anymore. Usually when things get bad, he just stays in his room for a couple hours, or he goes for drives in his car. His dad’s been taking away his keys at night, lately, and now I go _days_ without seeing him or hearing him. He just lays in the dark for hours. And when he does drive me, he doesn’t even tease me.”

It was a lot of information and Steve hadn’t known which part of it to address first. It took a couple seconds, but he finally got his bearing together. “What do you mean, ‘when things get bad’?” It seemed like the first thing to address. It was in the way Max phrased it, like he was supposed to have information to back it up so he could understand what she meant.

“Steve, he would kill me if he even knew I was telling you all this.” She looked deathly serious, now, and Steve wanted to cry out in frustration. He didn’t know what he was supposed to be _getting_ and _not getting_. He didn’t know why Max had chosen _him_ of all people for this job, anyways. She wasn’t finished, though. “I promised him. And no one keeps their promises to him.”

And _God_. Now there was no way he could say no; not when Max said stuff liked that and looked as desperate as she had in this moment. The only thing he could do was agree at this point. “Okay, Max, I’ll try to help all I can, but I really don’t even know what _I_ can do.”

“Just . . . you don’t think he would hang out with you, right?”

He gave her a dubious look. “I mean, I’m sorry Max. He apologized that night and everything but we’re not actually _friendly_. I just don’t really expect him to beat me up anymore.”

“So, you don’t think you could get him out of the house or anything?”

It had been an odd request, and he felt out of his depth. Max was coming at him with too much information and not enough processing time, not to mention that the information itself was so wholly confusing he needed a minute to wrap his head around it. He wasn’t going to outright tell her no or anything, but he really didn’t see how he could be of any help in the situation. Yeah, Billy didn’t have a lot of friends, but surely there was _someone_ more qualified to help with this?

“I mean, like I said. We’re not really friends right now.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. I thought I would ask.”

She looked so dejected he tried to backtrack a little, “Max—”

“You won’t tell the Party, right? They still hate Billy and would hate me for asking you.” Her face twisted a little. “You don’t hate me for asking you, right?”

“No, Max, of course not.” He said it as forcefully as he could, afraid that she was about to go into a tailspin. He grasped on an errant thought, “You don’t think your dad could talk to him or something?”

“Neil is _not_ my dad! He’s my stepfather.” She had exploded immediately. The breaths were huffing through her noise. He had recoiled a little at her sudden volume. “Besides, he’s the last person—” her eyes cut away quickly to him and she cut herself off just as soon. “Anyways, just forget I asked. It was already too much to ask for the rides.”

She had seemed to fold back in on herself, miserably, and Steve had been sure now that this would be the last he would get out of her. “I’m still good for the rides. But won’t Billy or your stepdad notice that another person is picking you up?”

Max shook her head. “No. Neil will be fine since you’re babysitting everyone else, and Billy won’t care. He’s been in hibernation too long.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.” There had been something about the way she still sat there, anxiously bouncing up and down. Like she wanted to tell him more but was physically holding herself back. “Max, I feel really bad that I—”

“Just forget it, okay? I shouldn’t have even asked.” She was done at that point; Steve could see it in the line of tension in her shoulders. He felt bad for disappointing her but had no idea what it was that she really wanted him to do.

“Max—”

“ _Please_ , Steve.”

She had looked so distressed in that moment he had no choice but to accept. “Okay.”

He resolved that he would give the rides to Max, maybe keep a distant eye out for Billy, and hopefully that would be the end of it.

That wasn’t the end of it, though. After that conversation he ran it over thousands and thousands more times in his head. It was all he could think about, actually.

The first time he pulled up to the Hargrove residence to pick up Max he had half-expected Billy to storm out and demand to know what he was doing. It never happened, though, and it never happened every time after he picked and dropped Max off. That first night he had been stalling outside of the house for a little bit, not even sure what he was waiting for, until Dustin had pinched him and screeched, “What are you doing? Do you _want_ him to come and eat us?” Dustin’s favorite comparisons to Billy were along the lines of either an ogre or a troll.

Max herself never brought up that conversation with him again during the break. The boys all assumed she was getting rides from Steve because she didn’t want to have to deal with Billy, and Steve never corrected them. The only indicator there was that she still thought about their conversation was the way she would guiltily glance to the window on the left side of the house, where the blinds were always drawn. Every time he spied her doing it through his rearview mirror, he felt another pang of guilt for not being able to help her out.

Billy didn’t show up to any parties for the rest of break, either, and Steve in contrast found himself attending every single one for at least a couple of hours. He told himself it wasn’t just so he could see if he could get a glance of Billy; and when he never did, he told himself he wasn’t disappointed over that as well. Max had wanted him to forget she ever asked for the favor concerning Billy, but instead Steve found himself fixating on it to an alarming degree.

He thought it might have been because of how lonely he felt over the break. His parents had called on Christmas morning and New Year’s Day, but both conversations had been short-lived and there was poor reception where they had been at the resort in the Alps. Lately whenever his parents would call, he would get a quick jolt of, “Oh yeah!” as if the presence of their existence was something he had to constantly remind himself of.

Being the kids glorified driver was all well and good, but there was still the disconnect of being much older than the Party, and while it felt good to be included on their outings he still was too aware of how little social interaction he was doing in comparison to the rest of his life. There was no beating around the bush: Steve was lonely. Him and Tommy’s friendship had definitely had plenty of questionable moments, but for the most part they had been each other’s millstones, a touchpoint in the center of everything. Nancy had replaced Tommy for a little while, but it was different having a best friend and having your _girlfriend_ be your best friend. While he didn’t have any current animosity towards Jonathon, it was still clear that they were very different people with very different interests. The prospects for just having another _friend_ were pretty bleak.

He could sense his growing desperation mounting as the break went on and on. Like it was building toward something inevitable. He didn’t realize how much he had been obsessing over it until the break had abruptly ended and he found himself catapulted back into high school politics.

Billy’s Camaro wasn’t in his usual claimed spot when he drove in Monday morning, and it didn’t show up for another ten minutes either. Steve was about to cut his losses when walking up to the school he heard the familiar roar of engine. Then, when he finally spied that blue Camaro, he realized that he was in too deep.

Trying to shake his head clear of the fuzz that had just filled it, he scurried into school. The beginning half of the day was spent in a haze; Steve too overwhelmed with his lack of sleep the night before to just jump into lesson plans that day. His eyes felt sticky and hot by the end of fourth period, and he wondered if Nancy and Jonathon would notice if he skipped lunch with them to take a quick nap in his car.

He hadn’t followed through on the nap, though, and spent the lunch pretending to himself that he didn’t see how happy they were and consoling himself by actively scanning the cafeteria and courtyard for any sign of Billy.

Finally, came the moment he had been waiting for. Math class.

Billy was already in the room when he poked his head in, and even with a quick glance Steve could see what Max had been worried about. Billy’s golden California tan had receded over the break; replaced instead by a sickly pale that you got from staying in all the time. Even from across the class Steve could see the way the eye bags sat on his face; deep purple marks that rivalled Steve’s own. Not only that, but Billy’s body was so visibly coiled with tension it looked like it was uncomfortable for him to even be sitting upright. In that moment Steve decided that he would try to figure out a way to come through for Max. He just had to figure out how.

First step had been dropping into the seat next to the other boy. Billy had looked startled, but then dropped his head back down to his own desk even after Steve’s attempt at a friendly smile. He didn’t say a thing the entire period, and Steve found himself glancing over every so often to make sure that Billy was even awake. After glancing once or twice, he realized that part of the reason why Billy was barely moving was because he was done with the homework they were being assigned later tonight. Suddenly, it was like the clouds had parted. Ms. Gardner’s words from the beginning of the year rang back to him, Billy’s affinity with numbers, and he could instantly see the path laid out for him crystal clear.

~

That wasn’t to say that tutoring went smoothly every time. That first time had been the worst; afterwards, Steve had cursed himself over and over for ruining the night by bringing up his own issues with school, no matter how surprisingly kind Billy had been with him. Things never got as bad as that, but every so often the mood would sour when Steve would get reminded just how inept he was with classes and school in general.

Billy never said anything mean about it, if anything he tried to tactfully navigate around the subject without stepping on any toes. Steve was aware that there was probably a part of Billy that still felt guilty for that night, so he tried to be as easy-going and friendly as possible. Billy seemed like he was immune to Steve’s good nature, though, and always seemed like he was wary of how agreeable Steve always felt.

It took about a month of tutoring to melt through the frost Billy had built over the break. His particular brand of iciness wasn’t dissimilar to his douchey attitude before school had let out, but now he had no one to back him up or vouch for him if he went too far. Steve knew that Tommy and Carol still had bad blood with Billy, and as a result most of the high school had taken to ignoring him on the daily. Steve never saw Billy at lunch, but he always reeked of cigarettes when he got to math class, so Steve figured wherever he was during lunch, he was there alone. Against his better judgement Steve had begun to develop empathy for Billy; he didn’t want to, but it was so easy when the other person had such a similar brand of loneliness to his own.

Finally, around mid-February, he and Billy were veering toward a somewhat tentative friendship. Steve had never pictured himself being in this position back in November, but he also didn’t believe that he’d be passing calculus either. Billy was a patient teacher, and it was obvious that the material came easy to him. He had told Steve that he had taken the class before, but Steve knew that Billy had probably aced it back in California just as he was acing it now. Math was always the focus of their tutoring sessions, but sometimes they’d take a break halfway through and Billy would help Steve stumble through some of his essays for English or quiz him for biology. Billy seemed to be academically gifted in all subjects, but he was quick to deny and clam up every time Steve mentioned it. Since Billy had never prodded about his obvious learning disability, he returned the favor by not pushing him about his smarts.

They had a pretty good rapport at this point, too, Steve finally understanding that you had to wade through the prickly surface in order to get to the smooth core. Billy was obviously intelligent, and with that came a dry humor that often had Steve in stitches; desperately trying to hold in his laughter sometimes so he wouldn’t come across as too dorky.

Tonight, they hadn’t had much to work on, but at this point were too used to meeting up twice a week, so whenever these nights came, they ended up idly working on their homework and shooting the shit. Steve, who had uncharacteristically finished his history assignment during lunch with much needed help from both Nancy _and_ Jonathon, ended up being the one to have nothing to do. Billy, who was probably doing next week’s science homework, noticed almost immediately.

“What,” his eyes were narrowed, and it didn’t sound like much of a question.

Steve guiltily stopped tapping his pencil. “What?”

“’What’ as in ‘What are you doing?’”

He shrugged. “I dunno. I finished all my stuff.”

Billy looked uncomfortable. “Listen, man, just tell me when to dip and I will. You don’t have to wait for me to finish my shit.” He went to snap his book closed.

God, it was so difficult dealing with Billy sometimes. You’d be coasting and everything would be fine, then one wrong move and his hackles were up. Every time Steve had to talk him down from the ledge, he felt like he was soothing a snarling dog. “Jeez, man, I’m not saying you have to _go_ ,” and that was the truth, but if he wasn’t telling him to go then just what was Steve doing?

He already knew the answer to that though. And there was no beating around the bush. He had been bracing himself to make an offer for the last week and a half of tutoring sessions but had kept chickening out at the last moment. Billy still looked like he was ready to bolt, though, so Steve knew he had to get to it fast.

“Do you wanna take a smoke break?”

Billy blinked. He looked caught off guard. “Uh, sure, if you want.” He switched to gingerly gathering his things into his bag.

Steve watched on, pretending that this wasn’t a major difference to how they usually spent their evenings. It seemed like most of the time they were content with starting and ending all interactions in the safety of their tutoring sessions, but had had the unprompted thought in his head for a while about maybe . . . extending the invitation. Of course, he appreciated Nancy and Jonathon and their endless support, as well as having Dustin and the others always there to have his back, but Steve hadn’t had his _own_ close friend in a while. And after spending enough afternoons with Billy, he was beginning to think that they really had more in common than they initially thought.

Billy joked about meeting the old King Steve sometimes, but Steve knew that if _that_ Steve met Billy it would either end in the highest of highs or lowest of lows. Sometimes he figured they would have gotten on like a house on fire; Tommy may have been replaced within a short matter of weeks. Other times he thought they would have probably had a worse explosion than what happened back in November. That was based on the fact that the old Steve was a lot less understanding towards fickle and irksome natures. Billy’s ribbing would have been alright at first, but the amount of physical fights he seemed to get into probably would have been the line for Steve. The shit that had gone down with Jonathon had been in a moment of crazy desperate heartbreak, and even in that fight he hadn’t held his own. Funny how he was alright with being friends with people who knocked him to the ground pretty well.

But Steve could tell that under all that tension Billy was just like any other high school kid. If anything, he was wittier and funnier than his other high school companions, and Steve was always down for a good laugh lately. Coupled with the fact that there was still a deep part of him that analyzed his and Max’s conversation, it was the perfect storm for Steve to justify befriending Billy Hargrove.

They walked back to the backyard, Billy assuming to head that way since he usually never smoked inside houses and Steve just willing to let Billy do what he was comfortable with. He didn’t smoke cigarettes often, but he could at least hold his own enough to not hack up a lung in front of Billy. Although maybe that would be funny enough to Billy to cut the weird tension in the air.

Billy shook out two cigarettes from his pack and offered one to Steve. Steve, who had made the suggestion but had no way to follow through if Billy had randomly forgotten his pack seeing as he usually never smoked cigarettes on his own, took one gratefully. They handed exchanged Billy’s Zippo to light and Steve took pains to make sure he looked natural while flicking it closed.

“Thanks,” he offered. Billy just nodded and took a drag.

They smoked in silence for a couple minutes. Finally, Steve broke with a, “So do you miss California?”

Billy almost physically recoiled. “Uh, I mean, yeah.”

Steve cursed himself for asking stupid questions, which seemed to be one of his specialties. “Right. Yeah, I’m sure Hawkins is a bore.”

Billy looked cautious. “Yeah, it’s not so bad but. California’s better.” He flicked the end of his cigarette to clear the ash. He seemed to get lost in thought for a couple seconds before offering up, “I lived right by the beach. Sucks that there’s nothing like that here.”

Finally, something Steve could grasp onto. “Oh yeah? That’s cool. I think the closest thing I’ve been to a beach is Lake Michigan.” After sharing that he immediately became aware of how small-town hick he sounded.

Billy thought the same thing too if his grin was anything to go by. “Does Lake Michigan get any tides?”

“Actually, now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure it does? I went there when I was like ten, so most of what I remember was that the water was too cold to swim in.”

“Nah, not the ocean. It’s cold at first, but after a while if you stand still enough, you can feel the sun through the water.”

“Did you ever surf?” Suddenly the thought of Billy hanging ten in some board shorts seemed alien in his mind. Maybe if Billy were wearing _denim_ board shorts or something, or ones in pure black.

Billy was outright laughing now, all previous awkwardness forgotten. “No, maybe once or twice but that wasn’t my thing. I’d just swim far out til’ the water would hit my neck.”

“And wait for the sun through the water?” He couldn’t help but ask.

“Exactly.” Billy’s eyes were so blue and piercing it almost felt like a _whoosh!_ Of breath left his chest when they made eye contact. He was desperate to keep the conversation going.

“What about after that? Your average day in California, I mean.”

He took another drag and seemed to think it out. “Hm. Swim at noon, get lunch on the boardwalk after. Probably get street tacos, or pig out and get the junk food on the pier. After that I’d cruise around town, maybe go to a movie. Most of the time I’d end up driving the half hour to San Diego to waste my time there. That’s where a lot of the live music scene is. There were a lot of clubs and bars that didn’t look too hard if you had a fake. Then, after all that, I’d head home and pass out.”

Steve gaped. “ _That_ was your average day?” Hawkins must have seemed like a ghost town. It was hard imagining many places in Indiana that _didn’t_ close after 10 p.m.

But Billy just laughed. “No. Most times I just stuck with swimming and cruising. I did that on the weekends, or a bad day,” he almost seemed to cut himself off abruptly, taking another hit of his cigarette.

At the sight, Steve took his own up for a drag. Almost half of it had wasted away while he was listening to Billy’s description, but he didn’t mind. He just flicked the ash off onto the cement below, like he had seen Billy do moments previous. “Well, Hawkins must seem like a drag, after that.”

Billy gave half of a shrug. Steve was hit by a thought, “Hey, why _did_ you move to California, anyway?”

That was the wrong thing to ask. Billy shuttered almost immediately, and Steve watched it physically and metaphorically unfold before his eyes. Where Billy had been open, easygoing before, he was now back into the Billy with the rough edges and the hard attitude. Steve was painfully aware that there could be another ass whooping in his future—but just as the thought sprung up Billy seemed to uncoil.

It was like the air had been deflated from a balloon. “Eh, a lot of stuff. Mostly with my dad, some with me.”

It was such a non-answer that Steve almost felt like raising his eyebrows encouragingly. He noticed Billy and Max had the same way of revealing personal information: like it was painfully prying it piece by piece from them. He considered it a win that Billy was even entertaining the question.

He seemed to take Steve’s silence as an indicator to continue and looked like he was parsing out the words in his head before he delivered them. “My dad was having issues with the contractors he was working with. He ended up having to switch locations. I got—into a fight, and then we ended up having to leave after that.”

“You got into a fight before you left?” Steve frowned, trying to remember how Billy had looked that first week, and could only remember smooth, tan skin. He shook his head, trying to clear that sudden thought.

Both of their cigarettes were dwindling low, now, but neither of them seemed to notice. It was like the air around them had grown hushed, and Steve would almost think it was Upside-Down related if Billy weren’t right in front of him, the cause of the tension. Billy rolled his shoulders back and seemed to brace for impact. “Nope. Went to the hospital and was all healed up by the time we came over.”

Now Steve _did_ notice his low cigarette, when the heat hit his fingertips, he let out a “Fuck!” and dropped it to the ground before grinding it under his feet. That was the last thing on his mind, though, the way his fingertips still stung. He was still holding onto Billy’s last statement, “You went to the _hospital?_ ”

Billy did another of his half shrugs, the ones where it looked casual but where Steve could also tell were supposed to conceal a greater anxiety underneath. He was used to giving them all the time, but never being on the receiving end. Billy seemed determined to always keep things casual and light, something Steve hadn’t noticed until he started making himself look for it.

“No biggie. You never went to the hospital before?”

“Yeah, but I mean, not for _that._ ” Which was true. Even when Billy had done his worst Steve still hadn’t needed to see a doctor. He wondered how messed up someone had to be, especially _Billy_ , to need to get treated for their injuries. “What about the other guy?” it seemed like it was smart to try to make humor of things for now, Billy didn’t seem the type to open his arms and tell all. Especially if he could tell the other person was really paying attention. Steve got the idea that people usually didn’t try to listen too hard when it came to Billy.

This time, he made the right move. Billy gave a smile, and while it didn’t seem as easy or carefree as before, it was still something. “You wouldn’t want to know.”

He wondered how many fights Billy had been in. Steve could probably count on one hand how many fights he had been in, and two of them had happened within the past two years. It just never was his go-to when it came to confronting people; even when he had been a peak asshole, King Steve was rarely the first to incite physical violence. Billy, on the other hand, seemed to exude violence. Steve had noticed over the course of their tutoring sessions just how many times Billy would have an odd bruise here and there, sometimes a split lip. Other times his face would look rough, and every time he saw any of these things happen, he wondered just who in Hawkins Billy kept starting fights with. It had to be someone from the edge of town, or maybe at some of the dicey biker bars that littered the highway. Either ways, it seemed like a hell of a lot of trouble to go out of your way just to seek stress relief in the form of _fighting_.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, pretty boy?”

He rolled his eyes, ignoring the flush that came up every time Billy used that nickname. He knew it was good old-fashioned ribbing between guys, but there was still a degree of it that felt personal. He didn’t know why out of all the nicknames Billy probably had in his repertoire he chose to use that one almost every time. Steve felt like dishing it out a little back to him.

“Just wondering why you always seem so down to get yourself beaten to a pulp.” He was sure that Billy probably gave as good as he got, but it was obvious that whoever it was always got a few good hits in.

He grinded his own cigarette under his boot. “Guess that’s one of those wonders of the world, huh?”

Steve stared blankly back at him. Billy rolled his eyes. “God, Harrington, you gotta try to read, like, even a _Ripley’s Believe It or Not_ once in a while.”

“Yeah, yeah,” He rolled his eyes, “Forgot I was talking to the Boy Genius over here.”

“You know, you’re not too bad, Harrington. You’re pretty funny, even if half the time it’s like you don’t mean to be.”

He was flushing again, and this time he didn’t know why. He chalked it up to the sheer weirdness of Billy being nice and decided to leave it at that. “Gee, thanks. You’re not so bad yourself, though.” He gave a grin. “When you’re not trying to beat me up, I guess.”

This time Billy gave a laugh. Steve was happy he’d been able to steer them out of that murky territory that they seemed to be wading in for a while, and Billy seemed content to let the earlier stickiness of the subject be washed away with some good natured banter. Something about him looking so . . . approachable and unconcerned was making Steve want to do crazy things. It was the first time in a while he had been hit with such an impulse, and it was no surprise that it concerned Billy.

“You wanna go get some food?” It was the second dangerous thing he’d offered this evening; and by the look on Billy’s face it was just as unexpected as the first had been.

Billy glanced down at his watch nervously, but said, “Yeah. I mean, if you want to. I just gotta get back by nine.”

Admitting that he had a curfew seemed to draw a painful wince from Billy, and Steve was a little surprised. Someone like Billy seemed to operate on his own time, and he tried to remember if Billy had ever talked about having strict parents. Now that he thought about it, Billy didn’t seem to complain about his dad or stepmom really at all. Maybe following their rules meant that he was on better terms with them, and Steve wondered what if felt like to have parents that actually wanted you home when they were home, instead of not caring at all and leaving you up to your own devices.

“That’s cool, man, we’ve got two hours. I highly doubt it’ll take that long to eat a burger at Sally’s.”

When they were out on the driveway the both of them hesitated for a second. Finally, Steve made the executive decision to beeline towards Billy’s car. It had been kind of an unspoken agreement that they were going to drive in the same car (anything else would be a waste of time and would also be extremely awkward) and since Billy still looked a little unsure Steve figured he could have the home turf advantage. Or, well, home car advantage.

Billy’s car stank of cigarettes and weed, and it made Steve thankful that he had leather seats instead of cloth. Knowing Billy, he probably chain-smoked in this car every waking moment, and even as Steve had that thought Billy was already shaking another cigarette out of the carton. He offered one to Steve, who declined knowing that any more nicotine and his stomach would probably turn.

After fiddling with the heat and making sure the both of them were getting blasted with the warm air, he gestured to the glove box. “Tapes are in there.”

When Billy didn’t elaborate any further, Steve took this to mean that he got the privilege of choosing music. Rifling through the cassettes, he realized that most of these he either didn’t recognize or he didn’t want to subject himself to the noise it would bring. Billy seemed to only like loud rock music. After a couple seconds of digging, though, he struck gold. He popped in _The Best of Blondie_ and covered the radio with his hand so Billy couldn’t see what he was doing. He skipped to the third track and then waited for the fallout.

The beginning drums started and before even two _seconds_ had passed Billy was already glaring at him. “Harrington, out of all the shit you could _possibly_ play, this is what you choose?”

“If you didn’t want me to play it, then why is it in your car?” Steve felt clever firing back.

Billy only rolled his eyes. “I keep that for Max. Figures that you and her would have the same taste in music.”

Steve laughed, “Whatever, don’t get mad at the fact that you’ve probably been called Blondie a million times and now you have an unfounded hatred for her.”

“Unfounded? Wow, that’s a pretty big word. Must have copied it from my English homework.”

Steve smacked him in the arm and was struck once again at how different a place they were at now compared to months ago. In November Steve would have taken that _very_ personally, enough to maybe fire back something biting and insulting back to Billy. Now, he could appreciate the fact that it was easy to tease and easy to be teased. Him and Tommy had never riffed as much in the friendship they had had their whole lives compared to the two measly months Steve had spent with Billy.

_The tide is high but I’m holding on . . . I’m gonna be your number one . . ._

He found himself bopping along with the beat and humming with the tune. It wasn’t a lie that he liked Blondie, and he wasn’t surprised him and Max had the same taste. Steve was more of a pop, or soft rock kind of guy. Nothing at all like Billy’s taste. Billy, for the most part surprisingly, seemed fine with just letting Debbie Harry sing on in the background. When _Heart of Glass_ came on, though, Billy groaned.

“Okay, now you’re killing me, Harrington. Please change the tape.”

Steve popped open the glove compartment again. “I refuse to listen to anything that deafens me, and I feel like that’s all you have left in here.”

Billy switched to driving with his left hand and reached his right into the glovebox. Steve, who had been hunched over the thing this entire time, withdrew as much as he could so Billy wouldn’t accidentally brush him. He didn’t know why it was so important to do that, and he ended up feeling silly when Billy didn’t attempt anything nefarious. Instead, he dug around the cassettes while casting an eye to the road every so often. “Finally,” he declared.

It looked like just a plain cassette, no artwork, or letters on it displaying an album. It probably shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Billy made his own mixes, he seemed to have very specific opinions about music and what kind of person you were depending on the music you listened to. Steve braced himself for the wailing of a guitar or beating drums, but instead he got _Tumbling Dice_.

“You like the Rolling Stones?” he asked incredulously. They just seemed a little too . . . girly, for lack of better word, for Billy, no matter the fact that they were probably the “heaviest” rock band Steve listened to.

Billy looked at him like he was dumb. “Of course I do. Who doesn’t like the Stones?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. They just didn’t seem like your scene.”

“My scene is _rock-and-roll_ , Steve,” he said like it was obvious. “The Stones are one of the building blocks of the genre.”

Steve, who was still recovering from the random butterflies he always got when Billy decided to actually use his first name, searched for something witty to say. “I guess I thought they weren’t hard enough for you.” And then cursed himself for not being able to string a complex sentence together. Billy didn’t say anything about the double entendre Steve unknowingly worked into their conversation.

“No, man,” and now Billy was getting _into it_ , “The Rolling Stones are hard as fuck. They’ve got that _musicality._ Only ones brave enough to start using blues in their songs when they could tell rock was starting to get old and tired. Knocked the Beatles off their fucking high horse, rightfully so.”

He raised his brows. “Damn. Alright, consider me schooled. Do not assume anything about Billy’s music taste.”

Billy seemed to belatedly realize how intense he had been coming across as and scaled back as Steve saw blush creep up his neck. They both opted for listening to the heavy saxophone and guitar in the music. Even the _oooh_ ’s of the background singers, or Mick Jaggers smoky voice proclaiming _You’ve got to ro-oll me, call me the tumblin’ di-ice_ , did nothing to break the silence. It didn’t feel that awkward, though, and Steve was content to let the instrumental wash over them. The song faded and switched to a heavy guitar piece he knew was Led Zeppelin, and something more along the lines of what he pictured Billy listening to.

They pulled up to Sally’s and Steve fixed himself with a confident bravado that probably was left over from his King Steve days. He was determined to play this as casually as possible, knowing that any sudden or wrong move could have Billy lapsing back into that uncommunicative state he seemed to enter whenever he was faced with any sort of pressure or stress. Billy seemed like he was content to pretend as well that it was completely normal he was rolling up to a diner with Steve Harrington, of all people, and distantly Steve thought it was funny how _delicate_ they were being with each other. Now that they were in public Billy seemed to want to draw as little attention to himself as possible.

Sally’s wasn’t packed when they came in, but it never really was packed any time. Even on Friday and Saturday nights there weren’t more than twenty-five people at their busiest rush, and Steve wondered how it was able to stay afloat for so long. As far as he knew, Sally’s had been around when his _parents_ were teenagers in Hawkins. It was always a constant, though, and was the number one place he always went to when he was stumped on what to eat for dinner. Usually he settled with the fried chicken sandwich, but since tonight was something of a _special occasion_ , he was fine in indulging in the bacon cheeseburgers that were the most popular item on the menu.

When Missy saw him, she gave him a nod and gestured at him to take his usual booth. It was the one in the corner of the diner, and one of those long rounding corner booths. Steve chose it because when he usually came to sit down, he had the Party with him. The booth was furthest away from the entrance and served as a buffer to protect the other patrons from the sheer _volume_ the kids could sometimes reach. When two people sat in it, though, Steve was aware how weirdly intimate it was to sit in the large booth. It never felt that way when it was just him with Dustin, but somehow with Billy it just felt _different_.

Billy, for his part, took it in stride and just stretched his legs out under the table. “This your new throne?” he gestured to the ripped red upholstery near his arm.

Steve laughed. “Ha. More like the feeding trough for all the kids.”

Billy nodded at that and picked at his menu. The silence from before still lingered even in the diner.

“Have you ever been here before?” Steve was struck by how quickly the words tumbled out of his mouth. It felt like all he really did was ask Billy questions, and he wondered if sooner or later Billy would notice and get annoyed.

For now, he was fine, though. “I’ve seen it a couple of times, but I never walked in. Seems like the stereotypical joint in this kind of town, though.”

“Yeah, small towns and diners go hand in hand.”

“Along with farms. I don’t think I’d ever seen that many cows in my life until the two day drive it took to get here.” His eyes glittered with mischief, “You ever tip any of them over? Or is that just a rumor you bumpkin use on city folk?”

Steve had to laugh at that. “Can’t say I’ve ever tipped a cow over. But you never know, could happen soon.”

Missy came over and they both got the bacon cheeseburger. Steve got a Mountain Dew and Billy got a water. When she came back with their drinks, he wrinkled his nose at the lime green soda. “You know that’s just gonna keep you up all night, right?”

Wasn’t like it would make any difference. Steve told him as such, “I won’t be sleeping much tonight anyways.”

“You do that a lot?”

“What? Drink sodas past seven o’clock?”

“No, dumbass,” Billy rolled his eyes. It almost sounded fond. But just almost. “I _mean_ , do you not sleep a lot?”

He was uncomfortable with where this was going. Steve was aware that his little insomnia issue probably came across as super weird to anyone not in the know of Upside-Down issues. Regular high school guys like Steve weren’t supposed to only sleep an average of three hours a night, and the little sleep they got wasn’t supposed to be riddled with nightmares, either. He was aware that he was going to have to do some tiptoeing around this subject, which also made him feel a pang of worry. Billy was too perceptive to be able to casually slip things by him.

He opted for his usual casual shrug he had perfected over the last year or so. “Oh, I sleep okay. Just get restless now and then.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t drink Mountain Dews at night.” Billy sounded so much like a chiding mother Steve had to let out a laugh at that.

“Yeah, I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

A beat passed. Then, “Is that why you were smoking in the woods in the middle of the night?”

He felt like flinching back, but that would be too obvious. Instead he had to keep it cool. Regular teens in high school weren’t supposed to have his degree of anxiety. Billy was waiting on an answer, and his unflinching gaze made Steve resist squirming in his seat. “Yeah, I mean, sometimes I just wanna stretch my legs. So. I just . . . drive around or go for a walk.”

It sounded weird even to his own ears. No normal kid left their house in the middle of the night to drive around or walk in the dark because they were _restless_. Now he was fidgeting and tearing up the straw wrapper, trying not to think about how strange he must be coming across.

“I do that too, you know,” Billy offered after it was clear Steve wasn’t going to continue. “I told you how I drove around the streets back in California, right?”

“Yeah, a little.” The description of his day still sat in the forefront of his mind, and he figured it was probably something he’d twist over and over in his head tonight.

Billy was nodding. “Over there, not matter what time, the shops and buildings were always lit up. Or, if you drove near the pier, there were these tiny lights they’d hang from the posts. Most of the time I’d just drive for hours at night, because there’s less traffic, but you can still hear everyone who’s out.” He seemed to realize how much he was talking and started trailing off.

But Steve was enraptured. California sounded like some kind of fantasy land, especially compared to dinky old Hawkins. “Dude, come on, I’m trying to live vicariously through you.”

Billy snorted. “It’s nothing that special. Just a couple of lights. But over here, by the time I drive around at night, everything’s shut off. It’s like the whole town goes to sleep at nine o’clock sharp.”

“Yeah, that’s Hawkins for you.” Then it struck him, “Where do you usually drive?”

“I dunno,” Billy shrugged, “Around.”

Steve had to roll his eyes. Sometimes he thought Billy was leagues ahead of him socially, then other times he thought they both had the same levels of ineptitude. “God, Hargrove, you know I’m not trying to mow you down with my car, right?”

Billy flicked his straw wrapper at Steve, who hadn’t noticed he’d been balling it up this entire time. “As if, Harrington. No way you’d sacrifice your fancy Beamer for that.”

Jeez, Billy was good at distracting him from the subject. “Listen, I’m just _saying,_ ” he tried to make his voice sound a little more hospitable, “If you ever see my car on the side of the road, feel free to make sure that I’m not dying in the woods.” Is what he settled on. He’d meant to tell Billy that they could maybe _meet up_ sometimes, but then that felt too weird to say out loud. He still wasn’t sure if they were even on “friends” terms yet.

He felt a kick under the table. For a second he was so distracted by the random thought of what it would be like to play footsie with Billy that he barely caught the, “Yeah, alright, If I see your little red BMW I’ll make sure to drop by and say ‘hi’.”

Steve tried not to smile too hard, despite the lingering oddness of his last train of thought. Billy had a good way at picking up what he really meant, and he wondered how it was that there were other times that Billy felt so disconnected. Like he was two different people in a matter of seconds.

Billy seemed content to drop the subject for now, but Steve had an inkling that it was one of those things he would file in his head to bring up at a later time when Steve would be caught off guard by the subject. He had his own inklings about Billy he was keeping squared away, so he figured fair was fair.

It occurred to Steve how odd it would be to see them from the outside looking in: Steve as the former fallen king, and Billy as the recent fallen king. What was it about Hawkins that chewed you up and then spat you back out? Not for the first time he wondered what it would be like to be any place but here; it felt like everyone who lived here was stuck in some sort of vacuum that stopped them from seeing anything else besides what they’d always known. Billy was lucky that he had lived someplace else before, not only someplace else but _California_ of all places. Or maybe that made it worse for him, going from a place brimming with life to a place that seemed to be stuck in the same monotonous cycle.

Even as he could see random other teenagers in the diner, he wondered what they thought at the sight of them both. Him and Billy had lost all their respective _cool_ reputations, and now it probably looked like two sad sacks accepting that they were the new pariahs. Which had been fine when he had had Nancy by his side. When it had been just him it had sucked, knowing that not only did you not have anyone really there for you, but also knowing that all your classmates were laughing at you behind your back. The upside was that now at least Billy seemed to be in the same boat as him.

But it didn’t seem like this high school stuff really got to Billy. He thought maybe Billy would bitch once or twice about his sudden drop from the pedestal Tommy had lifted him onto since he first came onto the scene; yet Steve hadn’t heard a single peep from him concerning anything related to that. He wondered if he should ask Billy about winter break sometimes, but even asking Billy to take a smoke break and get burgers with him had nearly sent him into a tizzy of anticipation and nerves. He had to take baby steps. He had to take baby steps anyway because Billy seemed to spook so easily.

For a while they just let the sounds of them chewing at their burgers fill the silence. Finally, when Steve had wiped his mouth and Billy let out an unseemly belch, Steve figured he had probably pushed it a bit. Billy seemed to be glancing at the clock almost nervously, like he was already impatient to get out of there, and Steve wondered if maybe the whole curfew thing was just an excuse to bunk out early. But he also figured Billy was a big boy, and if he really didn’t feel like hanging with Steve he would say so. At least, that’s what he was trying to tell himself.

Driving back in Billy’s car was different than the drive there. The cassette started almost immediately when he turned on the car, and they both jerked in surprise when Lynyrd Skynyrd began crying from the speakers. Well, Steve had jerked back; Billy completely jumped out of his skin. He noticed that Billy had a bad habit of being surprised. Or maybe just reacting badly to surprises. Not that Steve was really _that_ much better, but at least he had the demodogs as his excuse.

The energy was different the whole way back to Steve’s house; almost like they had just done something against the rules. On the way there they had talked about _music_. Now, they were letting an ear-splitting guitar solo fill the void. It seemed like a step back, and Steve wondered what it would take to put them back into that easygoing conversation like before. Bringing up music again seemed like it was too obvious what he was doing, and Billy didn’t seem to be in an approachable mood right now.

When they pulled up to Steve’s house, he was disappointed to see Billy was just dropping hm off. It made sense, it was almost 8:30 and if Billy was telling the truth about the curfew thing then it made sense for him to want to jet out as quickly as possible. It didn’t stop the nagging thought at the back of his mind that even _Billy_ _Hargrove_ didn’t want to hang with him.

He was a couple steps away from the Camaro when he heard Billy call his name. His first name. He turned around.

“Listen . . .” he seemed to search for the words. “Usually when I drive, it’s around midnight. I don’t know how late you stay up, but I figure it’s pretty late if you were smoking a joint around 1 a.m.”

“Yeah, I stay up late.” Was what Steve dumbly said back. He was surprised by the abrupt turnaround Billy seemed to have.

“Maybe I’ll see you around, Harrington.”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” He felt like he had to reclaim back some brain cells in this conversation before Billy sped off thinking he was a neanderthal. “Maybe you will.”

Billy didn’t say anything else, just squinted his eyes back at Steve like he was trying to see something. After a second, he just nodded and threw his car back in reverse. Steve stood at the end of the driveway, watching the Camaro peel down his neighborhood and feeling like someone had pulled the rug from under his feet; making him lose balance and wondering why it was so hard to keep up.

~

Saturday was a day with Dustin. Dustin had dramatically told him last week that Steve was “pulling away more and more each day,” after Steve had told him point blank that he didn’t want to join their bi-weekly D&D tournaments. While Dustin had huffed and accepted that, Steve had felt that warmness in his chest again and offered to hang out with _only Dustin_ on the weekend. That had immediately perked the other boy up. It was a sad realization that he was truly so starved for companionship that he was excited to spend the day with a thirteen-year-old. On the other hand, though, there was something so refreshingly genuine about Dustin’s enthusiasm. Steve would admit that it felt a little good to be hero-worshipped sometimes, especially since most of the time he felt like there wasn’t any real good parts of him left. Dustin made it easy to forget his stress sometimes.

As if on cue, Dustin let out an inhuman shriek as he looked back and forth between Missy and Steve. Steve, who had literally only good thoughts of Dustin in his head up until now, was reminded again of why it was a poor choice to always surround himself by _children_. It took them _years_ to learn about volume control. Missy had innocently brought up seeing Steve the other night whenever she was taking their orders, and Steve knew the second the words were out of her mouth he was destined to hate his life for the next couple of minutes. Dustin, for his part, looked outrageously betrayed.

“Who did you bring here?! Anyone from the Party?” The last part sounded accusing.

“Dustin— _dude_ , simmer down.”

“Don’t tell me to simmer down!” And there was the pitch that always had Steve choosing this booth away from everyone else. “Answer the question!”

“It was no one from the Party!” He was quick to assure, “Jeez, boundaries much? You know I’m, like, a real human being with real life friends.”

Dustin raised his eyebrows. “Really Steve? Resorting to lying now? Who was it, then?”

And that was probably even worse. “Um, actually, yeah, it was one of the Party.” He’d rather die on that sword than the one bearing Billy Hargrove’s name.

But Dustin was quick on the uptake. “It’s someone _secret_ ,” he was intrigued and leaned forward almost the whole way over the table. “Who was it? Was it some girl? Is that why you’re not coming to the Party meetings? Because you know Mike would find out and tell Nancy? _Is_ it Nancy?!”

“God, no, Dustin!” He didn’t know why his voice sounded so disgusted. “No to all, you watch way too much daytime television.”

He wasn’t deterred, though. “But you’re lying! You get all squirmy when you lie!” and sure enough, the second he said that Steve realized he was tearing up his straw wrapper again, so much like the other night that for a moment he lost himself. Dustin seized upon that opportunity. “You have a secret! Why can’t you tell _me_? At least tell me her name!”

“Dustin,” He groaned, feeling strange that Dustin was unknowingly comparing Billy to a secret girlfriend. “Please, drop this. It’s no one.”

“You know I can just ask Missy when she comes back again, right? In fact, I think I see her over there, let he just—”

“Fine!” He hissed, feeling that this was about to be a bad idea, “It was Billy Hargrove.”

Dustin stilled from where he was halfway out of the booth to wave Missy over. He slowly sat down, looking Steve over. Steve had the distinct impression that he was about to be diagnosed with some kind of incurable brain tumor by the way Dustin was looking at him.

“Steve, I’m worried about you.”

The absolute sincerity in Dustin’s voice had him choking on his drink. After he recovered from a mild coughing fit, with Dustin looking even _more_ concerned about him, he tried to grin showing all was okay. “Thanks buddy, I appreciate your concern, but I’m just fine.”

“No, you’re not! You’re pulling away!” Dustin’s voice was beginning to veer towards that high pitch again. “And now you’re hanging out with the Antichrist!”

“Dude, Billy is not the Antichrist. The. . . _Antichrist_ is the Antichrist.” Yeah, maybe that metaphor got away from him.

Dustin looked similarly unimpressed. “Steve, no offense, but I don’t really value your judgement, right now. In what _world_ do you think it’s okay to hang out with _Billy Hargrove_?” The way he spat Billy’s name made Steve feel a little incredulous, seeing as Dustin had adopted an _actual creature of monstrosity_ , so it was a little rich hearing about a lack of value in judgement.

“Listen, Dustin,” He tried to be rational, trying to detonate the bomb named Dustin Henderson that was currently in danger of going off, “It’s no big deal. Billy’s just tutoring me for our math class.”

“Then why were you here with him Thursday?”

 _God, this kid should be a cop_ , he thought miserably to himself. It was humbling to be continuously outsmarted by a middle-schooler. “What, we can’t eat at all? I’m telling you, Dustin, it’s really not what it sounds like.”

Dustin was still undeterred. “And what’s this about him _tutoring_ you? Am I really supposed to believe Billy is some kind of math genius?”

“Uh, yeah?” He had to no clue what else to say to that. The truth was the truth. “He’s actually pretty good at every subject.”

That didn’t assure Dustin, though. Only made him look at Steve like an alien more. “Steve, you sound crazy. You’re _defending_ him. You’re acting like you’re friends! He beat your face in!”

Missy dropped Steve’s chicken sandwich and Dustin’s mac and cheese. He tried to catch her eye to give her a glare for letting Dustin loose on him, but she wisely kept her eyes pinned to anywhere but the two of them. Dustin ignored his food in favor of leaning forward and spreading his hands on the tabletop.

Steve had to cut this off before he launched into another tirade. “Dustin, calm down. I haven’t been body snatched or anything. Billy has been tutoring me since the new semester, and we’re sort of friends, okay?” He gave a helpless shrug. “He apologized to me; you know. For that night. And he hasn’t done anything really dick-ish lately.”

Dustin seemed to mull that over. He was silent for a moment, before unexpectedly saying, “You know he said sorry to Lucas over the walkies?”

Steve did not know that. Billy barely mentioned anything about the kids, and Steve had figured that he was still taking to heart what Steve had threatened him with that one day after school. “No, when did he do that?”

“I dunno. A couple days before school started. I thought Max forced him into it.”

Steve had to give a laugh at that. “I don’t think anyone could force Billy to do anything.”

Dustin still looked grave. “We didn’t think that he was actually being serious. Do you?”

“ _Dustin_ , do you think he’s playing some kind of long con? Why else would Billy apologize?”

“You’re sure he’s not still secretly evil?” Dustin questioned, still looking disbelieving. “No offense, since he’s apparently your new best friend, but there’s something seriously off about the guy.”

“Listen, Dustin, I know how to handle myself, okay? Do you really think if there was a chance of Billy beating me up again I would be willingly letting him into my house?” Dustin looked like he desperately wanted to say something to the end of that statement, so he carried on anyways, “It’s fine. Has Max complained _at all_ about Billy lately? Talked about him being annoying or anything?”

Dustin shook his head reluctantly.

“There. I’m telling you, everything’s fine. It’s probably a good thing to have, like, one single friend who’s not in the middle of everything going on.”

“Well, _technically_ , he’s Max’s step-brother, so one could argue—”

Steve tossed his fries Dustin’s way. That killed the tension for now. The rest of the dinner was spent as if everything was normal, but Steve could tell that the second he dropped Dustin off there would probably be a group discussion via walkie talkie over what Steve had divulged to him earlier that night. He wondered whether Max would tell them what she had asked him over break, but it probably wasn’t likely. Both her and Billy seemed to play their cards to their chests all the time. Steve wished he could be that way, but he felt like everything was always written all over his face. He figured it just went hand in hand with the whole stupid thing.

When Steve’s driving him home later, probably five minutes from Dustin’s house, the other boy finally brings it up again. “I’m not saying you can’t look out for yourself or anything; it was really fucking freaky watching him just keep going at you over and over.”

Steve’s heart clenched. He wasn’t annoyed that Dustin had given him a hard time, it had just been a little disheartening that apparently so many people had so little faith in him. Even a thirteen-year-old. But seeing it from Dustin’s point of view, it probably was more than just really fucking freaky watching some asshole beat up one of your friends. Knowing that there was someone that was trying to look out for his best interests was something he was still trying to get used to, but Dustin was reminding him every time they hung out why he was solid as a rock. “I know, buddy. But I swear there’s nothing to be worried about. I’m not going through any sort of crisis, and I promise you Billy isn’t going to beat me up.”

He believed what he was saying. He just hoped that it was actually the truth, and not just some hopeful manifestation. Dustin seemed to accept that, though, and dropped it for the last time that evening.

When he finally got home, he was feeling uncharacteristically exhausted. It probably had more to do with a day of Dustin being dialed up to an 11 rather than any progress in his sleeping habits. He wasn’t going to waste an opportunity to get some much needed shut-eye, though, and he made sure everything was set up in his room accordingly: drawing the blackout curtains shut (even though it was already dark out, it still felt safer having the windows completely covered), making sure he had _just_ the right amount of pillows and blankets, and setting his sleep machine to the perfect volume. It was methodical. It was crazy. Usually with his sleep machine he set it to the brown noise setting, preferring the deeper pitch rather than the high-toned static that he felt when he listened to regular white noise mode. This time, however, he set it to “ocean tides”, thinking about Billy’s description of swimming out until the water lapped at his neck.

In fact, as he was lying there trying to shut his brain off, he started thinking of the ocean again. It was easy to, with the waves in the background. He tried to picture it from what Billy described, especially the look of sun rays cutting through the water. That time he had been to Lake Michigan he had barely stayed in the water for twenty minutes before running out. He hadn’t been lying when he told Billy how cold it was, but he could also remember his mom telling him how if he just kept swimming he’d warm up eventually. Steve had been too impatient to let himself freeze for that long. Now, the thought of willingly making himself that cold again after fighting the chill in his bones since November, wasn’t something he’d put himself through again.

It was easier to picture himself on the California coast facing the Pacific: crystal blue skies with not a cloud in sight, and the even deeper blue hue of the ocean at the skyline. Walking slowly, cutting through the undertow, moving further and further into the deep end of the ocean. Going all the way up until his neck, like Billy had said. Standing there for a bit, feet planted in the warm sand beneath, letting the rest of his body get swayed by the tides around him. Finally feeling surrounded by that warmth Billy talked about. With the sound of the waves crashing in the background, and feeling toasty under his blankets, he was able to drift off without even realizing it.

~

Falling asleep was nothing like waking up, three hours later. Where he had felt completely at ease shutting his eyes, when he woke again, he was sweating and panting. His heart was racing like he’d just ran a mile, and his blankets lay in a heap at the end of his bed where they usually ended up anyways. It took a couple minutes of measured breathing before he finally felt like he wasn’t gasping for air anymore. So, the usual shitty feeling that came after waking from a nightmare. Three hours was pretty decent compared to how his usual attempts at naps went, and he was reminded why when he finally tuned in to the artificial sound of his white noise machine. He shut it off and tried to shake the panicky feeling that was still left over.

He took a shower, which helped clear up the last of the cobwebs still sticking in his head. The scalding water helped him focus on slowing down his heart rate, and when he was finally done with it all he felt less crappy than before. Not altogether too great, but at least he felt more awake than even just ten minutes ago. He had tried to remember what the nightmare was about when he was in the shower, but just came up blank as usual. He didn’t know if it was better or worse that he never remembered.

It ended up being a quarter to midnight when he finally got his bearing together. He racked his brain trying to figure out what to do before he remembered his and Billy’s tentative agreement just a couple of days prior. Without letting himself overthink it to the point of talking himself out of it, he grabbed his keys and went for a drive.

It took him probably twenty minutes to find the blue Camaro parked in the corner of the parking lot for the only decent shopping center located in Hawkins. Everything was closed, since it was past midnight, but some of the lights in the lot were lit up, giving it an eerie feeling. He slowly inched towards Billy’s car, where he could see the other boy in the front seat: one hand being used to smoke and the other over his eyes. Steve was worried for a second about interrupting, before he firmly told himself to stop being such a coward. Billy wouldn’t have agreed if he didn’t want to. When his Beamer got closer, Billy lifted his hand from his eyes before spotting Steve and giving him a little two-fingered salute. Steve took that as an invitation.

When Billy made no further movements, Steve ignored the sound of his pulse rushing through his ears and parked his car, hopping out and sitting in Billy’s passenger seat. From the immediate smell, he knew Billy was smoking a joint rather than his usual cigarette, and Steve accepted it when Billy passed it his way. This time Billy’s mixtape from before wasn’t playing, instead it was a fast-paced song with squealing guitars that he didn’t recognize.

He itched to turn the volume down, even just a _little_ , but knowing Billy this would be seen as some sort of highly disrespectful move. Billy seemed to be very protective over anything concerning his car. Thankfully, the song ended, but the next one following it was just as loud. Something must have shown on his face, because Billy gave a dramatic sigh before turning the dial down.

“So-o, Steve-o,” Steve was taken off guard by the sound of his name through Billy’s singsong tone, “What brings you to this neck of the woods?”

It took him a minute to catch up. “Oh, ya know, just doing my nightly rounds,” parroting what Billy had said to him months back. He wondered if Billy would get it.

He did. His eyes were narrowed dangerously but his smile wasn’t the usual mean one that went with it. “This time I’m letting you smoke all _my_ good reefer, huh?”

Steve laughed. “Yeah, I guess so.” He took a couple seconds to get a good inhale. It was much smoother than the joint he had been smoking that night by the creek. “Mine wasn’t as good as this, though.”

“ _That’s_ for damn sure,” Billy took it from his hands gingerly, “This is from my secret stash.”

“Oh really? So, I’m smoking grade-A California grass?”

Billy groaned. “God, don’t ever say that again. It sounds like you’re a narc.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah, sorry King of Cool. I forgot that being from California made you the guardian of culture.”

Billy gave a cackle at that. Steve rode the high of saying something witty enough to make Billy laugh.

“Good” was an understatement for the weed Billy had smuggled from California. By the end of the joint, Steve was feeling higher than he had in a while, and he thought maybe once he went home he might even attempt to sleep again. Billy hadn’t rolled down the windows at all while they were smoking, so the smoke ended up just building and building until Steve’s eye’s felt red hot. The heat blasting in the car also added to the effect, and Steve ended up feeling hazier than he might have expected.

He craned his neck to get a good look at Billy, the first since randomly climbing into his car, and then it took him a second to process. “Hey . . . is your eye, like, swollen?”

Billy, who had also seemed to be chilling just moments ago, looked back at him. Now that Steve was looking at him head on he could see that he was right, Billy’s left eye seemed to be a little puffier than the other one, and the area around it almost looked a little darker too.

“Nah, I don’t think so.” Billy didn’t even check in the mirror to see. “You’re probably just too high, Harrington.”

“Um, I’m pretty sure a joint doesn’t make you hallucinate.” He waited for Billy to say something, but there was just the sound of the music playing extremely low in the background. Before he could tell his high mind it wasn’t a good idea, he was already reaching to flick on the overhead light.

Billy caught his wrist right before he did, though, and Steve figured his iron-clad grip probably would have hurt more if he weren’t so stoned. “Okay, okay, I got it: don’t fuck with anything in the Camaro without Billy’s permission.”

The grip eased and Steve untangled his wrist from where Billy had had it clutched moments previous. His skin still felt warm right where Billy’s fingers had been, and he chalked it up to the weed making him feel like everything was suddenly over sensitive. Billy, for his part, looked a little spooked at himself for reacting so quickly, so Steve let the slip up slide. He didn’t think he’d actually been in danger of getting his wrist broken by Billy or anything, but it had still been startling to him when Billy had moved that quick; especially since Steve’s everything was moving at a molasses pace currently. He had some pretty good reflexes for a person that seemed to surprise so easily.

“Harrington,” he was jerked out of his thoughts by Billy’s voice. Billy was looking directly at him now, with an expression that was so intense Steve was momentarily taken aback. “I wasn’t gonna hit you, or anything.”

“Oh,” the words seemed to be slowly pulled from him. God, he couldn’t imagine smoking this weed on the regular. Hawkins shit must be like actual grass to Billy, compared. “I knew that.”

Before he could think better, the words were already tumbling out of his mouth. “I don’t think you’re gonna beat me up anymore.” Billy looked like the one being taken aback now. “I mean, I hope you’re not?”

“I won’t, man,” Billy said immediately. He paused a bit, though, “It’s just . . . sometimes it’s the first instinct.”

Yeah, Steve had already figured that out by now. There was no tactful way to say that to Billy, though, so instead he opted for something encouraging. “Well, sometimes that’s useful?”

“No, it’s not.” Billy was glaring daggers through the window past Steve’s head. “It fucking sucks. It’s bad.”

“Well, yeah,” Steve hedged, feeling entirely unprepared to handle where Billy seemed to be headed. “I mean, it’s not—you know, _good_ to hit people. But at least you know it’s bad, right? Some people hit people and don’t care.”

Billy gave an ugly laugh, but at least he dropped it from there. Steve could still feel the tension radiating off of him, though, and it reminded him of Max in his car all those weeks ago. The both of them were so alike in so many ways, but there was no way Steve was going to bring that up now. He couldn’t ever imagine himself bringing up that conversation with Max to Billy willingly, some part of him felt like Billy would either see it as a great betrayal or great embarrassment. Probably both. And then they’d be back at square one.

“Listen,” he started now, feeling the mood dampen with each passing second and determined to not let it stay that way, “If I thought you were an actual bad person there’s no way I’d ask you to tutor me, let alone smoke a joint in your car. You just have, like, impulse control.”

When Billy laughed this time, he could tell it was genuine instead of the mean he had pulled moments ago. He was shaking his head, “Impulse control. I’ll be damned. Maybe you have found your calling.”

Steve raised his brows. “As what? Professional rambler?”

Billy took a cigarette out of his front pocket and lit it up. “No, dumbass, you should be a counselor or something. You seem pretty good at talking people down from ledges.”

“Me? I don’t think so, man.” He laughed, embarrassed because Billy probably thought he was, like. . . _sensitive_ or something. Which wasn’t exactly considered a popular quality amongst teenage boys. “I mean, you helped me out that one night.”

Billy waved that away impatiently with his other hand. Steve could feel the air from the movement _whoosh_ over his face. “Not the same thing. You can actually, like, talk to people.”

“Me?” Now Steve was in disbelief. “You’re the one who got the whole school wrapped around your finger in, like, a week!”

“Yeah, but that’s all fake, Harrington.” Hearing it so bluntly put made Steve jerk back a little. Billy went on,” I’m just a really good bullshitter. As you can see: the second I dropped the act everyone dropped me.”

“Billy, c’mon, that’s not—”

“Ha!” the cigarette was dangling precariously out of Billy’s mouth as he laughed. Steve was so distracted by the contrast of white cigarette wrapping against the red of Billy’s mouth it took him a moment to realize what Billy was getting at.

He shook his head, feeling like there was still some great caveat to this. “Okay, sure, become a shrink. Thanks for the life advice.” It just felt like a highly ironic statement considering the state of his mind currently. Not that Billy knew that, but it still made him feel like a sham.

“Not trying to lecture you, man, just calling it like I see it.” He took a deep inhale, then blew the smoke rings Steve had never gotten the hang of, even when he was at his highest peak of King Steve partying. Watching the wispy little o’s disintegrate away took his mind off things for a moment. He got where Billy was coming from, and it wasn’t really Billy making him feel this way, but the whole thing had just been an uncomfortable reminder of how much he really wasn’t okay. Billy talked about being a good bullshitter, but no one was better at it than Steve Harrington. You could ask Nancy Wheeler if you really needed a confirmation.

Billy must have noticed the souring mood radiating off of Steve, because he felt a nudge. “You good, man?”

For a second Steve thought about lying, doing the whole spiel of _lost in thought_ or whatever he would usually come up with, but he was so sick of that. So sick of not saying anything, never acknowledging it. There was no way he could actually tell Billy the 100% truth, but at least he could do _something_. Blame it on Billy’s ridiculously good California weed.

“Nah, not really.” The words felt slow and suffocating combined with his cottonmouth, “I think you’re wrong, I think I’m an even bigger bullshitter than you.”

He didn’t need to look over to know Billy was giving him some kind of a look. “I highly doubt that, Harrington.”

He shook his head, already geared up for the rebuttal, “Billy, if you truly knew how much of an act everythi—”

“Steve.” He stopped at Billy’s tone. It wasn’t scary, but the firmness and gravity in tone he used made Steve listen for a second. “I’m telling you right now, however much of a sham you think you are, it’s nothing compared to me.”

Which, okay, Steve had known deep down Billy never actually _liked_ any of the fast friends he had made since arriving in Hawkins, but other than that it seemed like Billy was a pretty authentic person, with a personality that was so big it had to be natural. “I highly doubt that, Hargrove.” he repeated Billy’s words back to him.

“What, you think because everything feels fake right now it makes you bogus, or something? Try having everything in your life feel fake. At least at some point yours was real. I’ve never been real.”

Steve couldn’t tell if it was just the way Billy said it or the way the joint still had his brain fried, but it had him questioning, “What does that even _mean?_ ”

Billy, who had dropped off in thought at the end of his last statement, finally seemed to come back into focus. “Listen, man. I talked to Tommy before. I know that some kind of shit happened between you guys, but you were friends at some point. Good friends.” At Steve’s confused look, he groaned.

“What I’m saying, is that at some point you guys were super close. Probably knew everything about each other, right? Went over to each other’s houses all the time, knew lots of shit about him and his family you probably wouldn’t have known otherwise, right?”

Steve nodded. It was true, the decade of friendship he had shared with Tommy had made them entangled in each other lives, which was why it had hurt so much that Tommy was apparently able to shelve all of that just because of a disagreement.

“Alright, well, I’ve never had that. Fake people don’t let other people know everything about them, especially the stuff they wouldn’t be able to keep from them. Maybe you feel you’re like that now, but I guarantee you it’s just temporary.”

It was probably the most he’d ever gotten out of Billy, and also the most genuine. What he was saying made him sound like he was convinced that _he_ wasn’t genuine, though, and it threw Steve’s mind through a loop. “Billy, I don’t think just because you don’t, like , _share_ stuff with people that makes you a fake person. Maybe you’re just selective about who you share it with.”

Billy cast him a look through the side of his eyes. If Steve stared hard enough, he could almost see how Billy’s eye had swollen a little more since when he’d first noticed in the beginning. It didn’t seem like the right moment to bring it up again. “Yeah, maybe.” Was what Billy finally offered.

They sat there for a couple more minutes, Billy just idly smoking his cigarette and Steve’s mind working in overdrive to full comprehend the entire loaded conversation they’d just had. It felt like Billy was being transparent, but Steve just wasn’t able to see something. Just like when he had spoken with Max, he felt like there was just something he was supposed to _get_ here; the thing to make everything click.

Whatever it was, it had him feeling bad for Billy. It was a surprise to find out that Billy had never really had close friends, even in California. Steve, who was now only suffering because it was the first time in years he _didn’t_ have a best friend, felt guilty that he’d taken advantage of something he had just never naturally questioned. It made sense Billy was little rough around the edges at times; he had never had anyone to bounce back on.

“Well, I’m probably not what you had in mind, but I guarantee you there’s nothing you’ll say that could really freak me out.” At Billy’s disbelieving snort, he was quick to protest. “I’m serious, man. I guarantee it. Try me.”

Which, if Billy even knew about just the demodogs _alone_ from last year, he’d probably be thinking along completely different lines. If he actually knew about what went down in Hawkins after hours and in the woods, he probably wouldn’t question Steve’s capacity for surprise much. In the grand scheme of things, sorting through Billy’s complicated emotions sounded like a much easier task than even one hour spent in those tunnels again. And it was a challenge Steve would be willing to accept, looking forward to it, even.

“Yeah, sure Harrington. We’ll see about that.” Billy rolled down his window and tossed the cigarette butt out. While he didn’t seem completely back to normal, he had at least come back from that morose mood he had been sulking in earlier. Second by second the usual Billy was staring to appear again, false confidence and a wicked grin. Now when Steve saw it all he could think about was Billy saying that he’d _never been real_ and wondered how ingrained it must have been to be able to switch it on and off so well.

They didn’t hang out for much later, the joint and hour finally taking its toll on Steve, who had still not recovered since that disturbed nap he had taken earlier. When they parted ways it didn’t feel awkward, just felt kind of raw. Steve wished him and Billy could maybe have a normal conversation every so often, but now seeing how Billy operated he kind of understood. Billy was getting the feel of him, trying to test the waters of Steve’s resolve. Trying to see if he could keep up, keep playing the game.

Steve, who had never backed down from a challenge in his life, was determined to get a good look at the _real_ Billy, the one who Billy himself thought never existed.

He went to sleep that night, still kind of high and dazed, and while he knew that he would probably be waking in a couple of hours screaming, it still didn’t dampen his mood. He felt like he had finally gotten _somewhere_ with Billy, his foot in the door. It was just a matter of time before Billy would let him past the entryway and into the actual heart of the house, hopefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omgggg this turned out to be so much eaiser to write than billy's chapter lol. however next chapter we'll switch back to billy's pov! i'm almost done with all my exams and then once i am i can finally focus on this without feeling guilty hahaha
> 
> if you like it please leave kudos or comment, i love to hear feedback!


	3. a smile relieves a heart that grieves, remember what i said

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omgggg this was a behemoth of a chapter hahaha, took me so much determination and willpower to get through it, but i'm so happy it's done! get ready for the ride now, becuase this chapter is where it all really starts lol

“Dude, come _on._ Coach was right, you’re such a ball hog.”

“Uh, it’s not being a ball hog if you just can’t get it from me. Sounds more like a _you_ problem.”

Steve’s practically pouring sweat at this point; the air in the gym is still way hotter than it should be with the school trying to overcompensate for the chill still creeping around. Late march in Indiana is no joke. In California, he’d have already switched jackets by now. But of fucking course Hawkins, Indiana continues to have these never-ending cold fronts that sweep up out of nowhere and leave Billy out of commission for a couple days. He’s so unused to the cold, he’s never noticed how bad the circulation is for his hands and feet. The whole school day his toes are frozen fucking solid and nothing helps til’ he gets desperate enough to soak them in hot water at home. Max calls him a _baby_ every time he does it, but he also sees her teeth chatter all the fucking time, too.

Playing one on one is one of the only ways to keep the blood pumping, and Billy is always down to beat Steve at a game of HORSE. It used to be PIG but that got too boring with how quickly he’d win every time. Plus, Steve also would give up by the end of the third game and always call it quits. Billy wasn’t even one of the best players on the high school team back in Cali, but somehow that’s leagues better than their best guys here. Billy tells Steve so almost every time. Steve rolls his eyes back every time.

Tuesdays and Thursdays are for studying, but Wednesdays and Fridays are for impromptu basketball practice. Billy wasn’t sure how Coach Wilson would feel about them commandeering the gym after school, but Coach had waved it away with more nonchalance than expected. He had been surprised Billy and Steve even _wanted_ to still practice after the season had ended; and he was probably even more surprised that it was Billy and Steve in the first place asking to do so. But Coach Wilson had always seemed to have a good read on Billy, and he had always let his storms of anger slide with much more lenience than probably anyone else on the team. So, he had agreed that as long as he never found any gym equipment missing, that the two of them could just mess around.

Billy had kind of felt like he was a kid again, asking for permission, but the shame of doing that was outweighed by the sheer happiness of getting another excuse to spend time with Steve in any capacity. Not only that, but it was another way to avoid being in the house for even just an hour or two more. Since Max had her dorky A.V. club after school it was just the right amount of time to get in a couple of good scrimmages.

“Okay, I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to be holding the ball that long.”

Steve tried to push around him, but he was so sweaty he ended up slipping most of his limbs against Billy. Billy, whose mind briefly short circuited at the feel of Steve’s sweaty skin in his, faltered enough for Steve to get the grip back on the ball. “Ha!” he crowed, already trying to make his way down the court.

Billy was faster, though, and he was able to snag it out from under Steve’s grip just in time. It was another opening for Steve’s skin touching Billy’s though, but at least he was expecting the electricity enough this time to overcompensate for it. A lot of being Steve’s friend as far as Billy was concerned was trying to constantly ignore those little _zings!_ he would get sometimes. It was easier said than done. Billy used to think that he had somewhat of a presence, but nothing compares to a confident Steve Harrington. Sometimes he thinks he gets a glimpse of the now fabled King Steve, but Steve is always quick to assure him that part of him doesn’t exist anymore. Billy knows that can’t be true. You can’t just erase big parts of your personality. He wishes he had a personality. It feels like he’s mostly made up of poorly thought-out actions and reactions.

Billy scores the last point. He’s not surprised. Usually by the end of the last game Steve’s beat, and the only time he brings it are the short energy bursts he gets. Right now, he’s laying star fished on the gym floor, limbs splayed out like he really has no issue touching the dirty ground. He’s panting heavily with his eyes closed. Billy dribbles the ball so he has something to do with his hands and eyes.

He idly shoots a hoop while he waits for Steve to catch his breath. For all that Steve huffs and puffs at the end of every game every time, he _was_ the one who suggested basketball in the first place. Billy was surprised, at first. He kind of thought Steve was probably sick of him by now. When they’re not studying, or they’re not playing basketball, they’re probably either eating at the diner or going on a drive. Or, more recently, watching movies at Steve’s place. Either way, it’s the most Billy’s ever been with someone who didn’t live in his house. At first it was disconcerting, now it’s so commonplace he already feels himself developing some kind of dependency for it.

Today’s Friday and he knows there’s probably a party going on tonight. Used to be that Billy would be one of the first people to know if there was something going on, but so far, the semester is still staying the same 180 from the last one. That’s fine. Billy’s been at the top, and he’s also been at rock bottom before. Difference was at his old high school almost everyone was a little rough around the edges, Billy acting like more of a dick than usual was just every second Tuesday to everyone else. Here in Hawkins everyone is so committed to fulfilling that picture-perfect image that anything that didn’t fit into their carefully schedules program they immediately shunned. Steve was also a prime example of this.

However, since they began actually hanging out, people seemed to be a little confused. Steve had regained back some of his popularity after it was deemed he won the fight with Billy, and he had even divulged to Billy that he had been to a couple of parties over the break. Everyone seemed to be confused why him and Steve were suddenly buddy-buddy, and they didn’t know what that meant. So now they were both stuck in some kind of limbo, where they weren’t the total social rejects they were before, but also weren’t at the top of the food chain.

Finally, Steve decided he had recovered from their game of keep away. He weakly pushed himself back up to a sitting position.

“You know that floor is nasty as fuck, right?”

“Honestly, dude, I don’t even care. I thought I was gonna ralph for a second.”

Billy dribbled the ball again. “How were you ever captain of the basketball team?”

Steve finally got himself back up to standing. “Okay, once again I’m going to explain to you _why_ you’re so good.”

Billy rolled his eyes. “Harrington, if you say _one more time_ about steroids being in the fucking water—” At Steve’s quirked brow he lobbed the ball straight for his chest.

Steve caught the ball, at least, but not before dramatically hunching over and letting out a gasp. Billy shoved his shoulder as he passed by, Steve just laughed and straightened up. They walked back to the showers, Steve making a show of dribbling the ball and shooting it into the bin of equipment by Coach’s door. When it landed there from a perfect arc, Steve sent another smug look Billy’s way that had him shoving him again. Steve retaliated by slugging him back, and by the time they made it to the showers both were trying to stave off giggles.

When they got in the showers, though, the tension changed like it always did. See, there was always this awkwardness that came with the brief period they’d wash themselves off. It was easier when Billy was pretending to hate Harrington, the easy antagonization had been a good enough excuse to always crowd Steve in the showers and mess with him as much as possible. Now, Billy was actually _friends_ with Steve, and while riffing was already a part of their friendship, it was weird to do it in the showers now. There was already this underlying tension just standing _next_ to Harrington in the showers, which was an issue in and of itself.

They always showered next to each other because they were already used to it at that point, and it was too commonplace now that if either of them moved even a cubicle over it was like an acknowledgement of something... illicit happening. It was weird standing next to each other, and it was even weirder if they didn’t stand next to each other. If they were such good friends, it should have been _easier_ to stand next to Steve. But now Steve was actually _smiling_ and _talking_ to him and being naked in the shower next to the other boy was the most dangerous place to be in those moments.

Not to mention when Billy would occasionally catch Steve’s eyes tracking his body. He would have loved to believe it was because Steve was admiring his muscles, but knew it was probably more due to the random smattering of bruises that seemed to constantly switch around his back and front. Steve at least never asked or never talked about it out loud in those times. Just like right now, where Billy could tell Steve was valiantly trying not to look at the rug burn on the side of his ribs.

Billy was quick about washing up, too keyed up and nervous every time he was stood next to a naked Steve Harrington. It wasn’t like anyone was looking at anyone’s junk, but Billy was pretty sure Steve would be able to notice if he popped a boner right next to him. And being able to see the endless expanse of Steve’s skin covered in droplets from the shower was a reason enough for an unfortunate accident. He hadn’t had a slip-up yet in Indiana and there was no way he was about to start now.

After they showered came the dilly-dallying that usually followed. Usually by now they would have agreed on a place to eat, or what movie they would be watching, but Billy had noticed that Steve was acting a little… off. Billy was afraid to break the easy mood that they had had going on just moments earlier, so he kept his trap shut. A lot of times he cursed himself for being such a fuck-up that he wasn’t able to tell what a misstep was for friends. He tried to rack his brain for anything stupid he might have said during their game. Steve usually didn’t seem to mind Billy’s social clumsiness; like when he would go a little too far with a joke, or when he seemed unable to form a response to some of Steve’s teasing in turn.

“So-o,” Steve’s drawl drew him out of his thoughts. He was fiddling with the strap of his gym bag. Billy couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Steve this nervous in the past couple weeks. “You got any plans for tonight?”

“What do you think?” Usually, he had plans with _Steve_. He felt a little uneasy that Steve was asking him that. Was he trying to back out today or something? God, Billy had to get a grip.

Steve rolled his eyes at Billy’s taciturn tone. “I’m _thinking_ that we should go to Emily Wilkinson’s party tonight.”

Billy raised his eyebrows. _That_ was not what he expected Steve to continue with at all. The last party that had the _both_ of them in attendance had ended tragically all around: Wheeler breaking up with Steve, and Billy making a horrible first impression on the guy he’d been staring at since he’d arrived in Hawkins. Who also happened to be Steve.

His hesitance must have shown because Steve was quick to defend. “C’mon, man, it won’t be _that_ bad. I know for a fact that she got her older brother to get some liquor, plus there’ll be a keg.” His face took on a mischievous look, “Maybe I could see the new keg king in action.”

Billy scoffed. Last time he had been desperately hoping that Steve was amongst the crowd when he did his little trick and had been disappointed to realize Steve had actually been glued to a corner with his stick-in-the-mud girlfriend the entire time. Seeing Steve in action at a party was a little tempting, but Billy still wasn’t sure.

“You know everyone hates me, right?” He pointed out.

Now it was Steve’s turn to scoff. “Oh please. So, you missed a couple parties, big whoop. I guarantee if you showed up and pretended everything was normal, they wouldn’t care.”

Billy gave him one of his _Harrington, seriously?_ looks. Steve was still persistent. “Dude, I swear it’s not that deep. They’re just mad that their California King doesn’t think they’re cool anymore.”

“I’m not a type of mattress, Harrington.” He narrowed his eyes. Tried to not let it get to him every time Steve gave him a new nickname.

Steve waved it away. “Whatever. You know what I mean.”

Billy sighed. He realized he was dangerously close to giving in, and he tried to stave it off as long as possible. “Yeah? And what’s in it for me?”

Steve looked at him like he was dumb. “Um, free booze? Plus, you’d get to see me completely fail at beer pong.”

Watching Steve do anything at all, really, was reason enough. The icing on the cake was the fact that Steve apparently _wanted_ Billy to come. “Alright, fine.” He tried to sound put-upon, but it was hard when Steve was pumping his fist in the air like a total dork. He snapped his drying towel at Steve’s wrist.

They were out of the double doors and heading to the parking lot when Steve piped up again. “So, did you wanna meet up before? Or…”

Billy didn’t know how to play it. Showing up with someone to a party usually meant you and that someone were a _thing_ —something Steve should have known since he probably had done it in his King Steve phase over a dozen times. He’s heard the stories. Billy was hyper-aware of any action that might clue into the fact that he wasn’t the typical, All-American boy. Telling Steve they would take their separate cars was the right thing to do.

But… it didn’t seem like Steve even particularly cared, seeing as he made the offer. While it was against his better judgement, the thought of spending that time with Steve plus the added security of not walking in alone to a party was enough to throw his caution to the wind.

“I’ll pick you up.” He offered, trying and failing to pretend the overall _date_ vibes he was giving off.

“You sure? I think she actually lives closer to you, so if you wanna save on gas—”

“Nah, it’s cool,” Billy cut in. No way he was gonna let his dad see another boy picking him up for a party. “What time should I get you?”

“10 okay? I can roll us a joint for pregaming.”

“Fuck yeah.” If there was one quality about Steve he never expected, it was his ability to roll the tightest joints Billy had in years. The weed in Hawkins was usually abysmal, but he could still appreciate a skill for what it was.

Steve looked pleased as punch. “Alright, sweet, I’ll see you later then.” He started walking in the direction of his car.

“Can’t wait, pretty boy!” He impulsively yelled. He only had a moment to berate himself for saying something stupid, but he laughed when Steve just threw him the finger over his shoulder.

~

“What are _you_ getting ready for?”

Max’s voice jarred him out of his closet, where he’d been frantically flipping through shirts. He whipped his head around, finally meeting her eyes from where she stood in his doorway. Back in California he’d had a very strict “no entry” policy when it came to his room (Neil was the sole exception, of course, but that had never been up to Billy) and while he’d tried to enact that policy here, Max was constantly breaking it. He didn’t give her much shit for it, though, because their rooms were so freaking small compared to the last house that he knew she had to feel just as suffocated as he did.

“A party.” He grunted an answer, still agonizing over what shirt to wear. Christ, he had reached an all-time low of pathetic behavior.

Max’s eyebrows climbed up her freckled face. “Really?” her disbelief was evident.

He sent her a hard look. “Yes, really. At least it’s not some fantasy game tournament.”

She rolled her eyes and stepped in, easing the door shut gently behind her. Billy noticed how meticulous she was about making sure the knob didn’t click too loud. “Do you think _I_ actually like those? None of them wanna skate at all.”

“That’s BS.” He told her matter-of-factly as he debated between three shirts, all almost completely the same but different enough to stress him out. “If you have to play some dorky-ass game you should at least force them to get some fresh air.”

She came to sit on his bed. “They’re not that bad, they’re just used to doing lame stuff. I think they’d be overwhelmed at the arcade even on the Pier.”

“God, the people here have no culture.” He grumbled, mostly to himself. Max cracked a smile, though, and watched him sort through the shirts. He hovered over the black button up.

“Ew, not that one. You’re gonna look like the Grim Reaper with your leather jacket.”

He rolled his eyes but threw it out, leaving him with the dark blue shirt. At least that was solved. Now he had to worry about doing his hair. God knows that Steve’s would look perfect as usual, and Billy was unused to not being the guy with the best hair in the room.

“So,” Max had a weird tone in her voice that had Billy looking at her immediately, “Are you meeting some girl there or something?”

“Why?” he asked, already shifting to high alert.

“Um, you’re stressing about what to wear?” she waved her hand to where the rejected pile of shirts was laying at the end of his bed.

God, he needed a smoke to get him less jumpy before he met up with Steve. “Just trying to look good for a party.” He said defensively. He probably should have just lied and said yes, but for some reason Billy’s first instinct had had him protesting vehemently.

“I didn’t think you went to those anymore.”

Max had some balls on her, he’d give her that. Not that it wasn’t true; he wasn’t exactly the social butterfly he’d been before, and Max herself was an eyewitness to that fact. “Yeah, well, Harrington invited me.” He admitted.

Now _that_ got her attention. The way she immediately leaned forward and trained her laser-vision on him had him reeling back a little bit. “Steve invited you? Are you guys friends now?”

Billy gave a helpless shrug. Logically, he knew that he and Steve were legit friends now, so there was no need to hesitate. But it was one of those things where he felt like if he said it out loud then the universe would take it away from him immediately. Billy had the rottenest luck. He tried to fight back the irrational fear. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, he’s the one I’m tutoring and stuff after school.”

“Oh, okay, that’s good.” The surprise colored her tone. He couldn’t blame her: he’d have whiplash too thinking about their complete 180 if he weren’t a fundamental part of it. “You both need more friends.”

 _That_ had startled a laugh out of him. He acted like he didn’t notice the flushed look of pride on Max’s face after the fact. “Can’t argue with you on that.” He agreed.

It was silent for a couple beats. Billy took that opportunity to head to the mirror, where he could see if there were any rats nests he couldn’t see from the front. Suddenly Max’s voice was back, “Does Neil know?”

Billy stopped and looked at her through the mirror. It was easier then turning around and facing her head on. His heart was in his stomach and his heart was rabbiting at a crazy speed.

“About what? Steve?” Max couldn’t know what that would mean, right? It was one of the few things Billy’s dad never brough up in front of her. Probably trying to protect her from something he thought was absolutely abhorrent.

“No...” and now she was really looking at him like he had another head, “I’m talking about the party. Does he know you’re going?”

“Yeah, he knows.”

It was the first thing that Billy had tentatively asked when he got home. His dad had given him a good long look but agreed. Billy’s grades were up, and he was tutoring someone twice a week, so there wasn’t really a concrete reason as to why he shouldn’t go, and it’s not like he had been to a party recently. It still had been frightening to ask him, knowing full well that if he said no Billy would either have to stand Steve up or sneak out and risk the ass-whooping of a lifetime he’d get from his dad. He’d probably still sneak out, though, if he were really honest. The thought of Steve sitting in his big house waiting for Billy to never show up seemed harder to handle than his dad’s temper. _Famous last words_ , he thought a little morosely.

Max just nodded, picking at a loose string on his bedspread. Billy didn’t know what to say. It was obvious that she needed some form of comfort, but he was too unused to it at this point. When he was younger, he had been overly sensitive, something that his mom had adored and his dad had hated, of course. By the time he was in grade school she was gone, and he was already starting to realize that life wasn’t really fair or any fun, so it was easy to cut that part of himself off and leave it where the rest of his memories of his mom were.

He felt for Max, he really did. Part of his issue was actually getting beat, of course, but it was the constant walking on eggshells that really did him in. The constant stress of thinking, _is this it? Will this make him mad? Did this push him too far?_ at least it was something Billy had always grown up with, something that was so heavily embedded into his system by now. Max had at least come from a _normal_ family, but then she was thrust into the garbage fire that was the two remaining Hargrove’s. Even before she had found out his dad beat him; she could tell that there was some sort of… tension aligned with Billy and his dad. Now she had to watch everything she did all the time. He knew how much that could fuck up a person, and the sudden thought of comparison of his mom to Max threw him into a tailspin.

“Max…” he started, still clinging onto that previous train of thought and now desperate suddenly to make it up for Max where he hadn’t been able to with his mom, “I—”

His door suddenly swung open. They both flinched. His dad stood in the doorway, eyes hard on Billy, before he noticed Max. He relaxed his posture a little, and asked, “Can you give me and your brother a minute alone, Max?”

She glanced at Billy only for a second before stiffly pushing herself from his bed. It hadn’t actually been a question, more like a demand phrased in the form of a question. To refuse was not even an option. Billy watched her leave and when she cast him one last look he turned away.

His dad waited until she had shut the door behind her, this time with a more defiant slam than Billy had ever attempted, and then gestured for Billy to get up. Distantly he could register his hands sweating. He didn’t want his dad to rough him up right before the party, he knew it’d make him late and then once again Steve would be in full interrogation mode. He tried to square his shoulders while making sure not to look his dad in the eyes the whole time. His dad gestured for him to sit on the bed.

Over here, his dad towered over him, still standing. It was a useless power move, seeing as Billy was terrified whether he was standing or sitting, but he had to hand it to his dad for trying to cover as much ground as possible.

“So. A party, huh?”

“Yes, sir.” He said diligently in response. There wasn’t anything in his dads voice he could decode yet.

“You haven’t been going to those as much.”

“No, sir.”

“You’ve been doing a lot of studying too. Your grades have been up.”

Billy tried not to react, ignoring the false implication that his grades were bad before. He was shocked his dad was bringing that up, seeing as that was somewhat of a sore spot as far as he was concerned. His dad hated the fact that he could never ground Billy for his grades. It felt dangerous that this was being worked into the conversation. “Uh… yes, sir.” He replied dumbly back.

“You finally starting to think about your future?”

His head was spinning. He felt like there was a trap here somewhere, like he knew something Billy didn’t. They never talked about this kind of stuff, not even Billy’s dad joking about kicking Billy out the second he turned eighteen like most other kids he knew. Sometimes, deep down, Billy was worried his dad would somehow find a way to keep Billy tethered to him, like a punching bag he just never wanted to get rid of. It was hard to imagine his dad still holding that kind of power over his head, but he also wouldn’t put it past him to come up with something.

“I’m trying to.” That was a safe reply. He still hadn’t trapped himself, yet.

“Good. You should. I’ll be curious to see what you come up with.”

Billy didn’t have a good reply to that, his mouth dry. He was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. He kind of wished his dad would just pop him now to get it over with, not make him wait and wonder if that’s what the conversation would end with today. It usually did.

But no pop ever came. His dad just stared at him for a moment more, like he was trying to see into Billy’s brain through his eyes. He resisted the urge to twitch, feeling that any nervous moment could be portrayed as some form of deception. His dad’s eyes narrowed a fraction, and Billy’s heart skipped a beat. “Make sure you tidy this room. Or I will.”

That implication was clear. If he didn’t clean his room in the next couple of days, he could count on finding his stuff tossed all over the place next time his dad had the opportunity. “Yes, sir.” He said, feeling like a parrot as usual with the amount of ‘sirs’ thrown into the conversation.

His dad just nodded and left, leaving the door open behind him. Billy just sat there for a moment, trembling on the bed, and coming down from the adrenaline rush of talking to his dad. His leg was jumping up and down. He took a minute to calm his nerves, looking forward to that joint with Steve now more than ever.

He stood up and headed back to his mirror, distantly thinking about resuming working on his hair, but when he got to the mirror, he didn’t feel like doing it anymore. He took a good look at his face. No bruises, for now, but give it a week or two and he’d have another one again. He was more concerned with how drawn and tired he looked in the mirror, nothing like the effervescent air he used to carry around him. Instead, he looked exactly as how he was sure his dad pictured him every day: weak.

Billy tried to shake the thoughts and get into a better mood. It wouldn’t do him any good to meet up with Steve and be short with him, especially since Steve was the one who was getting him out of the house. He just had to shelve the tense conversation in the back of his head for the night. His dad hadn’t even hit him, so why couldn’t he stop thinking about it?

He was determined not to let the night be a wash and took a couple of steadying breaths in the mirror. Without thinking about it any further he got up and pulled on his shirt. His hair would just be whatever. He never told his dad when he’d be leaving, and he still had an hour to kill before he was supposed to pick up Steve. Chain-smoking in his car for an hour sounded a hell of a lot better than sitting in his room and working himself up into a frenzy.

His dad didn’t say anything to him when he left, which was the best he could have hoped for. His dad probably knew how much of a mindfuck he just put Billy through, was probably enjoying that even more than the game he was currently watching.

~

They rolled up to Emily’s at half past 10. Steve’s eyes were squinty and red, and Billy knew that his probably looked the same. Steve had taken one look at him when he’d picked him up and told him to take the first couple hits. Billy had done so gratefully, and by the time they finished the joint had felt mostly a pleasant numbness rather than the relentless racing thoughts he’d had since his conversation with his dad.

The place was packed, Billy had never been to Emily’s house before, but it was one of those rich-country homes, the kind where they kept their land further from their neighbors probably due to snobbishness. It wasn’t as big as Steve’s house, but he could tell it was one of those older ones. He parked near some other cars off the shoulder of the not-really road. In California they only had streets, over here it was all country road filled with gravel for miles.

His nerves came back briefly whenever they got out of the car and started walking up, but that was quickly quelled by the sight of someone running out of the house and puking their guts out in the front bushes. Steve looked back at Billy in incredulity before they both snorted, trying not to start hysterically laughing.

At least that broke the tension that had remained from earlier. When they finally got inside Billy was reminded quickly that him and Steve being here—together no less—was something that was unusual, judging by the number of stares that followed them.

Billy tensed up, not really sure what he would do but already gearing up for it, nonetheless. He was about to say something when he felt Steve’s hands clamp down on either shoulder and started steering him somewhere else. The sudden touch and knowledge that it was _Steve_ guiding him made him dizzy in the head enough to just passively let himself be steered.

“Okay, big guy, let’s just get you a drink.” Steve said, somehow projecting through the background noise of the party.

His shoulders were warm and tingly still when Steve finally released him; having taken them both to a kitchen. There weren’t as many people in here, and it was already leagues better than it had been when he first came in. The music was muffled in here, which helped with the sensory overload he had gotten from the foyer. Steve started pouring and mixing a drink without saying anything, so Billy just stood there watching him dumbly, feeling like a fish out of water. Usually, he was able to pull it together more, but the combination of his dad’s talk before and the anxiety surrounding the party seemed to be holding him back.

“ _Voila_ , a concoction of my own making!”

Steve brandished the plastic cub proudly. It was filled nearly to the rim and was a dark purple-pink color. Billy realized that for all his staring at Steve making the drink he hadn’t really paid attention to what Steve was actually putting into it, opting to just watch his hands. That joint hit him harder than he thought.

He took a quick sip: it was a little too sweet for his taste but there was enough tartness to cut it, plus it did the trick of masking the taste of alcohol. Without a second thought, he raised the cup and steadily drained it, only stopping when he finally got the last bit. When he was done, he got exactly what he wanted; the beginning warm buzz that made everything feel safer and easier to do.

Steve’s eyebrows had shot up his forehead the whole time Billy was chugging away, and when Billy set the cup down Steve let out a low whistle. “I’ve suddenly realized that I’ve never seen you drunk before.”

Billy narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, you have. Tina’s Halloween party?”

“Yeah, but I don’t really remember much except for you waylaying me.” Steve rolled his eyes. He began working on another drink, though, and Billy was content to watch again.

This time, when Steve handed him the cup again, he drank a little slower. Halfway through it, though, he could feel a steady fire burning on his belly. Steve was nursing a beer now and looked about ready to say something when the kitchen door swung open.

It was a couple of people, some went to the table with all the alcohol on it where Billy and Steve were currently stationed at, and when they cleared, he could see Tommy walk towards them. He braced himself, at least feeling more normal right now than he had the entire night thanks to the alcohol.

“So, I guess it is true. You two finally decide you’re good enough to come out here?” His face was twisted. “Who said you were even invited anyways?”

“I said it was cool, and it’s my house, so cool it Tommy,” called who he guessed was Emily Wilkinson, stood in the middle of a gaggle of girls and laughing at him.

It set Tommy off even more, and when Billy made eye contact with Steve across the table, this time they both couldn’t hold back their laughter. The girls were laughing too from across the kitchen, probably over something different, but it still induced Tommy into a shade of puce that almost made his freckles disappear.

“My man,” he said, feeling more charitable after seeing Tommy crash and burn so ridiculously, “There’s no beef. The old man said I had to cool it on the partying, so I laid low a bit. I’m here now, right?” He widened his eyes at Tommy.

Tommy looked well and hard at him before deciding to take his guileless expression to heart. “Right. Well, whatever. Keg’s outside.” And with that, he made his awkward exit.

Steve was shaking his head. “God, I really don’t know how you’re able to just twist words together.”

“Silver tongue, what can I say.” He finished off the rest of what was in his cup. He went to make a third one, already feeling so exhausted with how the night had gone and wondering what hurdle would next come his way.

It came in the form of Steve pausing him in his movements, holding onto the other side of the handle of vodka he’d been pouring into his cup. “Are you sure you don’t want to take a second?”

Billy rolled his eyes, shaking Steve’s hand off. “I’m fine. I’m pretty sure I’ve had mouthwash stronger than this.”

Steve didn’t say anything else, but Billy knew exactly what that expression meant on his face. It was his patented I’m-gonna-watch-Billy-like-a-hawk look. He got it every time he did something a little questionable in Steve’s eyes, which meant he got it at least twice a week. If Billy wanted to get a little drunk, then that was his prerogative.

They made their way through every area of the party, finally settling on the beer pong game in the basement. Steve wasn’t nearly as bad at beer pong than he claimed, and with him and Billy on the same team they were unstoppable. Billy was taking plenty of sips of his drink throughout the game and got so used to just drinking something he didn’t notice how more and more fucked up he was getting. Steve kept pace with him for a while, before claiming he couldn’t continue and went to find some water.

Billy was suddenly left on his own, and even though he was surrounded in the room by others, he still felt uncomfortably alone. He tried to walk in the direction of the kitchen to maybe catch up with Steve and get a cup of water too but ended up forgetting where it was. When he opened the nearest door, he almost ended up tumbling down the stairs and into the backyard. By some stroke of good luck, he was able to catch himself, and instead stumbled clumsily through the people, forgetting why he had even moved from the basement in the first place. The stone concrete looked so comfortable, for some reason, and he just needed to close his eyes for a _little_ bit.

He didn’t know how long a little bit lasted before he felt someone shaking him. Or, trying to shake him. He felt like his body was a heavy log. It was hard trying to get his eyes to even open. The shaking continued, and when Billy decided to finally tune in, he realized someone was _talking_. He cracked open his eyes with great effort.

“-ank fuck dude, I thought you got fucking _alcohol poisoning_ or something, do you reali-“

That was Steve’s face right in front of his. The way his face kept focusing in and out combined with the spins was making him feel dizzy. He groaned, trying to back up a little bit, but Steve just pressed him down onto the ground more.

“Stop squirming, dude, _c’mon_ ,” And that was Steve starting to sound desperate.

Billy felt bad for fucking up _again_ and tried to help by making his body limp. It at least did the trick by producing a sigh of relief from Steve. “Okay, so are you with me again? Earth to Billy?”

He made a noise from the back of his throat, unsure of how to move his jaw, which felt slack. Most of his body felt slow, too, actually; he realized his arms were splayed out instead of by his sides. He was laying on concrete, in someone’s backyard by the looks of it. It wasn’t Steve’s, so they were probably still at the party. Fuck. The party.

“Yeah, buddy, the party that you got completely trashed at.”

He must have said some of that out loud. His head kept spinning and spinning, and when Steve finally got him into a standing position, he thought he might projectile vomit all over the bushes. It stopped after a couple minutes, and while he tried to come down from the dizziness he focused on the steady pressure of Steve’s hand on his elbow.

There wasn’t anyone outside by the looks of it, but Billy also was having a hard time processing his vision, especially since he was drunk _and_ didn’t have his glasses. Steve was the constant by his side until he finally was able to stand and not sway for more than a minute.

“Okay, do you know where your keys are? I’m gonna get you home.” Steve was in front of him again. The combined loss of warmth at his elbow plus the suggestion of going back _home_ made Billy panic, drunkenly stumbling back.

Steve was already reaching for him, eyes wide. But Billy was quicker. “Fuck, no!” he managed to slur, before toppling backwards into the bushes he had just been thinking about hurling in.

The immediate pain in his back and head at least grounded him a little; sharply bringing him into focus. His hands gripped the grass around him uselessly. When Steve’s head popped into his line of vision, it reminded him of that one day after school so much his head almost started spinning again.

Hands came to his head and shoulders, trying to lift his body and straighten him up again. Billy went with it, still reeling from that burst of pain and unsure what to do with his limbs next. But he brought himself back to reality when he remembered why he had stumbled back. He tried to push Steve away. “You can’t make me go, I’m not gonna!”

He knew he sounded like a kid, but Steve kept trying to treat him like one and he was feeling pissed off. “We can’t stay here,” Steve’s voice cut in, “We’re literally about to get kicked out. At least let me drive us back to mine.”

He searched Steve’s eyes trying to look for any sign of deceit, but once he got a good look at Steve’s face it was hard not to get lost in it. Billy decided to hope for the best and dug his car keys out of his back pocket, wishing he had found a clever way of convincing Steve to get them himself.

“Don’t crash my car,” he tried to warn, but his words got lost in his mush mouth. Steve just gave him an exasperated look, and Billy was cowed into dropping the keys into his palm.

On the walk to the car he stumbled alongside Steve, and tried not to think about how he had probably fucked up the night and how Steve was probably mad at him and now he was probably gonna have to go home and—

“ _Billy_ , calm down, everything’s alright. I’m not mad or anything.” Steve was gripping his arms now, and once again Billy realized his stupid drunk mouth was just jabbering away _again_. “The party was lame. Everyone got way too sloshed. Let’s just go back to my house and I’ll get you something to eat, okay? I feel like you’re reeeeally messed up.”

He had been kind of swaying while Steve was talking and was happy for the steady pressure that kept him tethered. He didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded his head and tried to not look as pathetic as he felt.

Steve gave him one last affirming nod, before steering him to the car the same way he had done just hours earlier. He parked Billy in the passenger seat and walked back around to the driver’s seat. When he got in, he sat for a second adjusting everything to his height and positioning, while Billy just watched.

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna hurt your precious car.” Steve gave him a dry look.

“Better you than Max,” he said, suddenly remembering how badly his brakes squealed for a while after that night in November. “At least you can drive.”

Steve just gave a nervous chuckle and tossed Billy a look he had no clue on interpreting. Maybe it would have been easier if he were sober, but for now it was all he could do to focus on Steve’s face.

He thought the drive would make him more nauseated, but the smooth and slow pace Steve kept at felt like it did the opposite, calming him down from the fit he had been working himself up to before. He rolled down his window and ignored Steve looking at him as he stuck his head out to catch the bracing cold air. With his eyes closed Billy could convince himself the cold wash of air over his face was like that first dunk in the ocean.

It felt like no time at all had passed when the wind was dying down and they were pulling up into Steve’s driveway. He didn’t bother rolling up his window, just opened the door and accidentally spilled out onto the pavement below. It wasn’t as bad as the fall from before, but it still hurt nonetheless. For once Billy was gonna be the direct cause for his bruises. The thought made him laugh weakly into the driveway below.

And then there was Steve at his side again, looking like a worried mother hen. He tried to tell him so, but Steve cut him off. “I cannot _believe_ how drunk you are. I can’t believe I basically conjured this.”

He tugged Billy back up, and shook him out a bit before facing him, and biting his lip. He was looking at Billy intently. Billy’s heart started racing for no good reason, and his throat and mouth felt too dry to talk. Steve got closer, reached for him, but before Billy’s heart could stop, he just brushed some gravel off his face. He didn’t even feel the little rocks get embedded in there.

Steve cracked a smile. It at least got Billy’s heart to calm down. He was afraid Steve was gonna hold a grudge over Billy’s embarrassing display tonight. “God, I should have started switching your drinks out with water. I bet you wouldn’t have even noticed for the last one.”

Probably not. He tried to agree, but his cottonmouth was still getting the best of him. Steve shook his head fondly at Billy’s attempts, and curled his arm around Billy’s shoulders to guide him toward the house.

His steps were clunky, his limbs not fully agreeing with the program but trying their best, and when they were finally inside, they started towards Steve’s living room. The couch was calling out to him like a beacon. He pulled away from Steve and collapsed face down on the cushions. The spins came back once he was stationary again, but they passed after a couple minutes of measured breathing.

When he opened his eyes again and turned his head from where it had been suffocating in the pillows, there was a tall glass of water in front of him. Right by it, crouched by the table, was another tall glass of water named Steve. Billy felt clever with that one, so he pointed it out.

Steve blushed bright red, and _that_ was a good look on Steve too, but Billy figured he probably said enough tonight. He reached for the water and drank it down, trying to ignore how heavy everything was feeling. When he was done, Steve took it from his hands, accidentally brushing fingers with him and sending him into another tailspin.

He was left alone again for a couple minutes before he felt a light weight covering him. Steve had thrown a quilt over him and was turning off the lamp on the side table near him. He wondered if he should probably say something, but his mind came up empty. Anything he actually wanted to say would be too dangerous.

Instead, he let the warmth from the blanket and the heater running lull him into a dreamless sleep.

~

The first thing he did when he woke up was groan. He had a splitting headache, and his body felt like he had been in a car accident. He tried to think back to what his dad must have done to him last night before he remembered it: the party. Fuck. The party where he got completely drunk off his ass and fell about a million fucking times. With that realization came the one that he wasn’t even _home_ right now, was plopped instead on Steve Harrington’s couch.

His eyes snapped open and sure enough, this was Steve’s living room. Opening his eyes meant getting hit with the sun shining through the windows, which induced a new type of pain more hangover related than anything else. He was too hot under the quilt, especially with the clothes from last night still on, and finally committed to sitting up and getting his bearings together.

Billy finally got himself into a standing position, his headache making him a little shaky, and headed to Steve’s kitchen where he could hopefully down a quick glass of water before sneaking out. He didn’t remember most of last night, but he remembered enough to know that he was probably a major burden and annoyance to Steve at the end of the night. He’d give Steve a little space, knowing that the other boy would be too polite to ask for it even if he wanted it, and hopefully things would be okay.

That idea was short-lived, however, because Steve was already in the kitchen sipping on a cup of coffee when Billy stumbled in. Steve broke into a bright grin at the sight of him, and Billy miserably thought how it was too early for Steve to disarm him with those kinds of _looks_ at this time of the morning.

“Hey there, sleeping beauty,” His eyes twinkled, and he seemed to be in a good mood. “Feel like a jackhammer is going off in your head?”

Billy scowled. “Shut up. I know you have aspirin somewhere.”

Steve slid a bottle across the table to him. Even the sound of rattling pills was too abrasive for his headache, and Steve’s laughter at his responding facial expression wasn’t helping either. Billy went to the sink and ran the faucet, popping the pill back before drinking it down with a handful of tap water.

He snagged an extra mug drying by the sink and poured his own cup of coffee, chugging down the still-warm liquid. The coffee helped center him a little, at least, and when he finished his cup he looked back to Steve, who looked extremely tickled for someone who should have been supremely annoyed at having to play babysitter last night.

Like reading his mind, Steve said, “Dude, you were _wasted_ last night. I found you on the ground, like, three times. You were speaking almost complete gibberish by the time we got back.”

“That bad, huh?” Billy winced. He couldn’t for the life of him remember a single thing he’d said last night and was too embarrassed to ask for fear of what Steve might say.

“I left for maybe _five minutes_ to go get us water, and then next thing I knew you were gone and passed out in the backyard.”

Well, Billy at least remembered that part, only at the time it was clouded by feeling abandoned and determined to find Steve again.

Steve went on. “ _Then_ when I tried to drive you home you freaked out and fucking _fell backwards_ into the bushes, it was something like out of the Three Stooges.”

Now _that_ was news to Billy. He had remembered falling backwards, but not the reason why. Steve didn’t seem to focus on Billy’s freak out too much, though, since he still looked like he was in a good mood. Billy thanked whatever God there was out there that he hadn’t said anything too incriminating even when he was toasted out of his mind.

“Guess that explains why I feel like I got hit him a Mack truck.”

“Yeah, or it might’ve been when you fell from the passenger seat onto the driveway,” he shook his head, laughing, “That was not exactly how I pictured ending my night.”

Billy shifted, feeling uncomfortable. Once again, he was taking advantage of Steve’s just inherent good nature, and he hated feeling like there was something Steve could build resentment over. His plan from before to give Steve some space came to the forefront of his mind again.

He eased himself off of where he’d been leaned against the counter and straightened up. “Yeah, look, I’m sorry about that. I know you didn’t—”

Steve waved away his apology. “Dude, stop. Just make sure next time when _I_ get that hammered you won’t let me fall as many times as you did.”

“Forreal, though,” Billy said, undeterred. “I’ll get out of your hair. I know you’re probably sick of me.” He tried to make it come out as a joke and was relieved it didn’t come out flat.

Steve shrugged. “I mean, if you want. But I was thinking we could get some breakfast? I know you’ve gotta be hurting, and I’m pretty sure bacon grease cures all.”

“Uh, yeah. If you want.” Billy agreed lamely, completely thrown by Steve’s suggestion of spending further time together.

Steve misinterpreted his expression for reluctance. He suddenly looked unsure, “I mean, only if you can. I know you’re probably itching to go home.”

“No,” he was quick to deny, “I can get some breakfast.”

The reminder of what waited at home gave him a fresh wave of anxiety. It wasn’t the first time he hadn’t come home after a party, but after the conversation last night Billy was a little unsure of what would await him. He knew his dad worked at least until 5 today, dinner was at the usual 7, so at least going for breakfast wouldn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things. Besides, it’d be something he’d be able to focus on if it turned out he _was_ in trouble. This was one of the worst parts about it: the not knowing whether it would happen today or in a couple of days. For now, he could get breakfast. “Where you thinking?”

Sally’s didn’t have very good breakfast options, and the both of them knew it. “Uh, what about First Watch? It’s a little bit out of the way but it’s worth it for their French toast.”

Billy was sold. French toast _plus_ and extra hour or so with Steve. For once maybe the universe was working in his favor. “Sounds good to me.” He felt his back pocket for his keys and found it empty. Right. Steve had driven.

Steve noticed him looking for his keys. He got up and fished them out of a decorative bowl in the corner of the kitchen Billy would have never thought about looking in if he went searching from them.

Noticing Billy’s confused look, Steve flushed. “I-uh- thought you might try to sneak out? So, I hid them.” His face was bright red.

Billy just laughed and snatched them back, letting that usual warm feeling he got when dealing with Steve run all the way over his body. He had been worried Steve might kick him out in the morning, and here was Steve hiding his keys so he wouldn’t make a fast getaway. “You are some piece of work, Harrington.”

Steve seemed relieved at his reply and abandoned his cup of coffee to follow Billy to the front. Steve wasn’t in the same clothes as last night, something more comfortable, and Billy momentarily mourned how gross he felt right now. Steve noticed, pausing him with a hand on his arm.

“You want to borrow a sweatshirt or something?” He plucked at Billy’s leather jacket and flimsy button-down shirt, “I guarantee you it’s too cold out for this right now.”

Which was probably true. Plus, it still reeked of smoke that was still clinging to it from last night, and Billy knew if he further inspected it, he’d probably find a couple of beer stains. The temptation to wear something that was Steve’s was just far too great. “Yeah, that sounds good,” he said, trying to sound casual.

Steve got him an old Hawkins High sweatshirt, and Billy tried to discreetly smell it when Steve had his back turned. It smelled good, but then Steve usually smelt good. Was probably some cologne Billy couldn’t pronounce or afford. It did the trick, though, and Billy felt more comfortable than he was before. That might have been due to just the sheer satisfaction of wearing something he knew was Steve’s, but he didn’t let himself ruminate on it too much.

The sky wasn’t as bright as he thought it would be, and knowing Indiana’s shit ass weather it’d probably be freezing in no time at all. If he looked far enough into the horizon, he could see the sky turning gray.

At least it hadn’t rained last night, something Billy was grateful for when he noticed that he had left the window down on the passenger side all the way. Seeing that suddenly reminded of sticking his head out like a dog last night, and he shook his head at himself for getting so trashed.

When they got into the car, Billy dug around for one of the mix tapes he usually played when Steve was in the car. Steve didn’t like anything too loud or too fast, and while normally he would put up the pretense of a fight, Billy also did not feel like listening to some heavy guitar this time. Steve always seemed to appreciate when he played the Stones, so he switched to _Waiting on a Friend_ and let the smooth saxophone provide the background music for the ride.

First Watch was kind of out of the way, but Steve was right about hyping up the French toast. The aspirin finally kicking in, plus eating his weight in breakfast food did the job of clearing up his hangover. When they were done, he felt like he was gonna burst. He leaned back and let his stomach settle. Steve finished off the rest of his hash browns, which was really just a sad pile of potato strips at this point, before tossing his napkin onto his plate.

“Holy shit,” he sounded like he was in pain, “I knew I shouldn’t’ve gotten the platter. I might be sick.”

Billy kicked Steve’s leg under the table lightly. “Hey. If you gotta puke you better not do it in my car.”

Steve kicked him back. Billy cut the corners on the grin that almost overtook his face. “Excuse _you_ , if anyone was in danger of puking it’d be you. I don’t know how you’re not still hurting from last night.”

He shrugged. “What can I say, I’ve got a gut of steel.” He rubbed his abs jokingly.

Steve glanced away, going a little red. For a second Billy thought maybe Steve had seen something, but when he looked over his shoulder there was nothing out of the usual. “What?” he questioned.

“Nothing,” Steve just coughed awkwardly, “nothing.”

Billy furrowed his brow and was about to say something when Steve folded his hands in front of him brightly. “So! Have you heard of the Angelika?”

What a segue, Billy was left in the dust. “Um, Angelica Thompson from the swim team?”

“God, I forget sometimes that you didn’t grow up here. No, the Angelika is like a specialty movie theater. It’s got, like, really good snacks and stuff instead of the usual places in Hawkins.”

“I haven’t been to a movie theater here, yet.” Billy disclosed, “So I wouldn’t know.”

Steve was agog, his mouth practically hanging lose from his jaw. “You’re lying! You haven’t been to the Hawk?”

Uneasily, Billy ran his fingers through the condensation of his water glass. “Sue me, I haven’t.”

He knew it sounded a little weird, seeing as he was supposed to be considered this huge lothario who just took pretty girls out and left broken hearts in his wake. The truth was, he had been a lot of talk and not a lot of follow through, resting on the old crutch of calling all girls in Hawkins’ _plain-jane’s_ and trying to preserve his reputation.

“Well, it’s not like it’s really that _nice_ , but it’s basically one of the only good things Hawkins has, so,” Steve made an _eh?_ gesture with his shoulders. “But. Not the point. The point _is_ , is that the Angelika is much better than the Hawk.”

Billy raised a brow. “And you’re bringing this up, why?”

And then there was Steve rolling his eyes exasperatedly at Billy, his usual move. “I’m bringing this _up_ , numbskull, because the Angelika is near this area, and we should check out a movie. Now that you’ve revealed that you haven’t seen a movie _at all_ in Indiana, I feel like it’s necessary.”

Billy didn’t need to glance at the black-and-white clock to know what the time was, he had been periodically glancing at it the whole meal. He still had hours and hours left until his dad was back from work, and it wasn’t like he’d run into him at the Angelika. He could have fun for just a couple more hours, then face the music. The prospect of sitting in the dark next to Steve for two hours was both thrilling and anxiety inducing.

They usually stuck to movies at Steve’s place, since he had a huge TV anyway. The thought of going to an actual movie theater and sitting down to watch something was so poignant as a “date move” that Billy was having a hard time wrapping his head around why Steve would be willingly inviting him to do so. Then again, carpooling together to a party had _also_ seemed like such a date move that Billy figured maybe Steve just didn’t have a good read on these things. Or maybe Billy was the one building it up bigger than it was in his head. That was usually the case.

“Sounds good,” he agreed, trying not to sound as excited as he felt. Something must have gotten through the tone, though, because Steve just grinned back.

~

After much arguing and much debate, all in front of the poor girl trying to sell tickets behind the counter, they settled on _Dune_. Steve had shot down _1984_ , no matter how much Billy had assured him it wouldn’t be as stuffy as the book from English, and in turn Billy immediately said no to Steve’s genuine proposal of _Footloose_. They finally came to a consensus and the girl in the booth seemed relieved to see them go.

Billy ended up blowing most of his allowance on his ticket and the food from the concession stand, but it was better than the average stuff you’d usually get. In fact, when they got into the actual theater, the place was roomy and nice enough to look like one of the theaters back home. Steve was trying to beeline them to the very back, but Billy ended up making him stop at one of the aisles more toward the middle.

It was partially due to the fact that he knew he wouldn’t be able to see the screen without squinting if they sat that far back, but also because of the… implications it felt like the back carried. Now more than ever he was hyper aware of doing anything that might seem— _unordinary_ , and it was that reasoning that had him yanking them to a more agreeable, safe space in the theater. Steve just went with it, oblivious as usual to Billy’s heavy internal debate.

The movie was good, but a little long. The action kept Billy on the edge of his seat, but Steve’s close proximity also exacerbated it. They had never sat this close when they were watching movies at Steve’s, or whenever they were in each other’s cars. Billy swore he could feel the warmth radiating off of Steve right next to him, and every time he so much as accidentally nudged his elbow Billy would feel a jolt of electricity run up his arm, prickling his skin in gooseflesh.

He only caught about half the movie, thankful for the loud music and distracting visuals. For most of the time he simply held his breath and waited for the next time Steve would jump and accidentally brush him again. He felt like a was balancing on a tightrope, playing a dangerous game he had never gone this far in before.

Billy couldn’t really offer much about the movie afterwards, seeing as he didn’t pay attention to most of it, but Steve didn’t seem to mind not talking about it, so he dodged a bullet there. When they got back into the car he still had about an hour before he had to get home. It was the reminder needed to drop the ball low into his gut, filling him with that slow dread that he almost always felt but never really got used to.

On the way back he opted for playing something loud to try to fill the space in his thoughts. Steve must have picked up on his crappy mood because he was uncharacteristically silent. It brought up the mental image, somehow, of Max closing his door quietly so that Neil wouldn’t be able to hear, and it made him turn down the volume dial. It was unfair to make Steve walk around eggshells just to cater to his whirlwind of emotions.

“Sorry,” he bit out, “Just… got in my head a bit.”

Steve looked surprised that he had said anything at all. “Yeah, I kind of noticed that.”

Ah. So, Steve _did_ notice when he was having his inner meltdown’s but was too well-mannered to say anything. He didn’t know if that was better or worse, but he was banking on worse. Anyone being able to spot those kinds of things on Billy probably wasn’t a safe person to keep around.

“So, what is it?” Steve’s voice drew him out of his spiral.

“What’s what?”

“Whatever has you spaced out and tapping the wheel every couple of minutes.”

Billy stalled his hands. He hadn’t even noticed they were jittering like that. He made them grip the steering wheel firmly and focused on the miles of farmland ahead of them. It would probably take another fifteen until they were back at Steve’s. “Nothing much.” He grunted, wishing desperately for a topic change.

But Steve now seemed to be in the mood for it. “Can’t be _nothing_ if you’re shaking like a kid hyped up on sugar. I know it wasn’t the movie, you were barely paying attention the entire time, just bouncing your legs up and down.”

And there was _another_ thing he had thought Steve hadn’t noticed. That reasoning got him a little flushed, though, because that had been on a wholly different basis than the one that had him stressed right now.

“Nothing important,” he offered, trying to will Steve to drop it.

He wasn’t deterred, though. “Dude, you were antsy in the diner, you were antsy in the theater, and now you’re antsy here. If you don’t want to hang out or something you don’t have to, like _pity me_ , and say yes—”

“It’s not that,” He interjected, hardly believing what he could hear. The thought that _he_ would be the one being forced to hang out with Steve was so laughable he almost gave a hysterical bark, “It’s not that.”

“Then what _is_ it?”

“I don’t know, man!” He burst, feeling like the car was too small for this. Desperately he wished he were anywhere but here right now, with Steve just staring doggedly at him from the side. “I just, just don’t wanna…” _Go home,_ he said in his head, but he couldn’t even finish it. Like every other time he came close, it was like there was something lodged in his throat physically preventing him from saying the words, or anything like them.

Steve was still watching him, though, and waiting for an answer. He was probably gonna think Billy was just bullshitting him if he didn’t give him anything to work with soon. Billy hated that it came to this, Steve questioning Billy’s behavior and internalizing it for himself, but Billy was just too used to bottling everything up until it would erupt in the privacy of his car, where usually not another soul was around.

“Look, it’s not that easy to just put into words.” He settled on. “But it’s got nothing to do with you.”

Steve didn’t look satisfied with that answer, not one bit. “Okay, sure, but why can’t you just _try_ to put it into words?”

“Because it’s not that simple.” Billy was getting exhausted with this back and forth. There had to be some give somewhere, and it looked like the both of them were standing their ground. Billy knew the stakes, though, and the inevitability that he could get past this.

“Then _make_ it simple!”

“I can’t, man!” He finally broke. “I just can’t tell you!”

Steve recoiled, and Billy realized his voice had hysterically echoed through the car, echoing back in his own mind like a shrill sort of scream that usually sounded nothing like him. He felt like he was itching out of his skin. He was barely paying attention to the road right now, only distantly aware that they were now back in Hawkins and probably ten minutes out from Steve’s place.

The panic and misery were still clouding his vision, but he was able to pull it together to navigate through the neighborhood’s to Steve’s house. Steve had been silent since his outburst, and Billy prepped himself for another couple of months of radio silence, once again due to his own making.

When he pulled into Steve’s driveway, he parked the car and waited for Steve to leave. When he didn’t, Billy shut the car off and let out a heavy exhale. He was about to say sorry when Steve spoke up.

“I don’t mean to pry. I know no one else really… word vomits like I do,” Steve shot him a smile, which made Billy unclench a little bit. But Steve’s face turned serious again. “I just feel like you hold a lot of stuff in.”

Billy shrugged uncomfortably. What else was new? The sky was blue, grass was green, and Billy kept a lot of shit in. Steve soldiered on.

“I’m just saying, from experience, that doesn’t work too well in the long run.”

He knew Steve had his own shit, all his comments about a lack of sleep plus the strangely vigilant behavior certainly pointed towards something; but it always felt cheap to ask when Billy didn’t plan on giving the same in return.

“Yeah, well, it’s worked for me so far.”

“Has it?”

Steve was raising his eyebrows at him. Billy bristled. He didn’t need another person pointing out his flaws to him, especially when it was someone Billy recently considered on his side. Steve saw the change in Billy’s expression immediately, but Billy was too far gone to feel bad about the nervous expression now on the other boy’s face.

“Billy…” Steve tried to start, but he was so keyed up that even hearing the sound of his own name had made Billy more combative than usual.

“Get the fuck out of my car, Harrington,” he snarled, almost feeling a rush as he settled back into his old behaviors. Steve didn’t look scared, though, just looked disappointed. _Join the fucking club_ , said a mean voice in his head.

Steve got out, but not before shooting Billy one last look. Billy didn’t even wait for Steve to start walking up the drive before he sped off, his anger building and building as he started speeding. Once he was out of Loch Nora, he pulled over into a shoulder.

“Fuck!” He punched the steering wheel. So many weeks of progress, so much time put into being a different person, and it was all gone in one fell swoop. It just took one too many questions from Steve and the fear of punishment from his dad.

Which, once the thought made its way into his head, Billy tried to gather himself together. It wouldn’t do well to come home looking like anything was out of the usual, and he still had about a half hour before his dad was due home. He’d be fine, just had to suck it up and continue on like usual.

He drove home, ignoring that heavy thudding in his chest and the way his hands kept prickling with sweat. The sky was now well and dark, a deep gray that spoke of rain in the next hour or so. The chill that had been going earlier was worse now. Billy realized with a jolt that he was still wearing the sweatshirt Steve had leant him, with his shirt and jacket from last night still laying on the counter of a random bathroom at Steve’s place. Well, he’d just have to worry about that for later. If anything, Steve would probably just awkwardly hand it to him after school. Or maybe just drive by and dump it on his lawn.

Billy was so consumed in the thoughts about the sweatshirt that it didn’t register at first that his dad’s car was in the driveway. Whatever heavy feeling had settled in Billy’s stomach before had now tripled, and he could only hear his heartbeat in his ears. His dad usually worked all day Saturday. How long had he been home?

He got out of the car and felt like it was another body walking to the door. Before he could even walk up the steps, it swung open. It was Max. She looked _spooked_. “Billy, you-you can’t—"

But he was already coming up the steps. They both knew he couldn’t very well leave right now. It was time to face whatever was waiting for him, which judging from Max’s reaction was nothing good.

When he walked in, Susan wasn’t in sight, but his Dad was. He was sat at the dinner table, like he had just been waiting for this moment.

“Billy,” his dad greeted, sounding almost… happy. That was a first. When he cut a glance at Max she was trembling. “Nice of you to finally stop by. I’m sure you’ve had a long day, so why don’t you go rest in your room?”

Well, that was a clear dismissal if he ever heard one. There was something off about his dad’s tone, though, and it wasn’t something Billy had ever encountered before. He wasn’t going to make things worse, though, so he ended up just ducking his head and jogging up the stairs, mind racing with the possibilities. He was supposed to be at work, he was usually at work, why was he _home_ right now?

When he got to his room, the door was already open. Inside, his room looked like it had been ransacked, with clothes and books thrown everywhere and almost every desk drawer yanked open. He had the worst sinking sensation in his gut, but Billy was no fool and knew there was nothing… out of the ordinary in there. It was no mystery that his dad had been searching for something, seeing as his comments about Billy cleaning his room last night were so pointed, but Billy hadn’t expected his dad to resort to _this_ so quickly.

What’s worse was that his dad was acting like the cat that got the canary, like he had actually found something. Billy idly reorganized his room, body just following the motions while his mind ran over the possibilities of what his dad may have found.

Max didn’t come up to his room at all, which he knew was probably Neil’s doing, and he wished that she could somehow _tell_ him what he was in for. Her face when she had opened the front door said it all.

He heard Susan walk in, and he held his breath trying to strain to hear what they were saying downstairs, but their voices were too low for him to understand. He yanked off Steve’s sweatshirt and stuffed it in the corner of his closet, starting to feel sweaty and overheated. He slid his shoes off and put on a white t-shirt, thinking maybe he could try to catch a quick nap before whatever inevitable confrontation occurred. It was just a waiting game now, which seemed to be a favorite of his dad.

When his dad called for supper, him and Max met eyes at the top of the stairs. She still looked freaked. He was about to pull her aside when his dad appeared at the bottom. “Max come on down, Billy, why don’t you go back up to your room? You must still be tired from being out so late.”

The implication was clear. Max could only toss him another glance before stiffly making her way down the stairs. His dad only had eyes for him. Billy turned and went back up to his room before his dad could tell him twice.

He lay on the bed, feeling like his heart was going to beat out of his chest. How long was his dad gonna make him wait for? It felt like an eternity had passed already, and Billy wished he would’ve just gotten to the point and beat him whenever he first came home. Right now, he could at least be licking his wounds. Instead, he was picturing every single future one in vivid, gory detail.

It was almost forty-five minutes later—dinner was done—when he heard his dad call out to him. “Billy? Could you come down here?”

He made his way down the stairs, feeling like a dead man walking. Max and Susan were still at the dinner table, both looking away. So, it was about to start, then.

“Alright, son. Let’s get this out in the open, why don’t we?”

Billy stood there, unsure of what to say. This wasn’t his dad’s usual script, so Billy couldn’t feed him the usual lines.

“Why don’t I start, so you can wipe that dumb look off your face?” That was more along the lines of what he was used to. “First, you don’t come home at all. Then, you spend the whole day _out_ , with no call whatsoever.” Not that Billy ever called, but that wasn’t the point to bring up right now.

“I decided, being the good father that I am, that I would help you clean your room, since it was such a pigsty.” Even though he had left it in a worse state than it was previously. He had to have found something. _But what did he find?_

“And do you know what I saw? Tucked up into your desk drawers?” He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. “Go ahead and read that for me.”

Billy took the paper with trembling hands. When he smoothed it out, his stomach dropped. Of course, how could he have been so stupid? He didn’t need to read the letter to know what it was for.

“Dad, I—”

“ _Congratulations, William Hargrove,_ ” His dad recited through gritted teeth, not taking his eyes off Billy for a second. “ _For your acceptance into University of Southern California._ ”

“It was—”

“So, you mean to leave, then? After all I’ve done for you? Given you a roof over your head, clothes on your back, food on the table.” He was inching closer now, and Billy was instinctually backing up, starting to tense up.

“After your good-for-nothing bitch of mom left, who was with you, huh? And you think you can just get rid of your old man _now?_ ” His dad’s eyes were blazing. Billy could distantly hear his own breaths coming in quicker. “You think ‘cause you can work some numbers you’re so much _better_ than me?”

He shoved at Billy’s chest, hard. He stumbled back, feeling himself slam into the wall behind him. His dad was still coming forward, though, and he grabbed the collar of Billy’s shirt. Why hadn’t he just left the paper in his backpack? Why’d he have to take it out and bring it to the one place he always forgot was the most dangerous?

“You think you’re smarter than your old man, right? That’s it?”

White hot pain across his face was what he registered before he saw his dad even move. Before he could recover from it, his dad was hitting him again, class ring always adding the extra twofer. He still kept Billy propped by the collar, though, one hand already reeling back and delivering another hit.

This time, his dad let go of his collar. He toppled to the floor, landing on his hands and knees and unable to focus on anything else but not swallowing all the blood. His eyes and nose felt wet, and he knew his face would start swelling soon. He didn’t know if it was tears or blood, and when a red drip fell to the floor he couldn’t tell if he felt relief. When he felt the kick to his ribs, he was unprepared.

He ended up hunched over on the ground, only budging to fall over when his dad landed another solid connect to his torso. This one stole the breath from his lungs, and the ache that followed made it hard to gasp his breaths out.

“You don’t look so smart, and you don’t look that much better to me.” His dad was hovering over him. “In fact, you look pretty pathetic.” He gave another kick, this one coming down so hard that Billy let out an unconscious low moan of pain, unable to stop it.

“You’re not going to be anything, Billy. You never were. It’s time you’ve realized that now.” His dad went to give his head a final blow, but Billy scooted back fearfully. It was seconds after that he realized his mistake, groaning when his dad launched another kick, this time hitting his sternum and making his chest rattle.

His dad was saying something else, but he couldn’t hear past the sound of his own heavy breathing. He saw his dad’s foot rear back again, and closed his eyes, bracing for the impact.

“ _Neil, please,_ ” he heard Susan abruptly moan, sounding like she was in pain herself.

It caught his dad off guard, and when he stuck his leg down and turned to face her, he ended up accidentally stepping on one of the hands Billy had splayed out. The pain was immediate and like no other, the meat of his dad’s foot in his boots resting painfully on two of his fingers. The crack almost sounded comical. Even when he wasn’t trying his dad found a way to hurt him.

That had made him let out a low groan, feeling a new wave of pain that seemed to cut through everything. When he tuned back in, Susan was still pleading with his dad. “—needs to go somewhere, I don’t think—”

“I actually think you’re right,” his dad interjected, finished now with the interruption. “Billy _does_ need to go somewhere. Why don’t I let him, since he hates it so much here?”

He nudged Billy roughly with his foot. Billy got the message and used his good hand to shove himself into a kneeling position, his head swimming after just that movement. His dad didn’t wait for him to get with the program, and instead grabbed the top of his shirt and yanked him up.

“Where are your car keys?” He demanded. Billy just nodded in the direction of the stairs. “Good. Go take a walk, have a night out on the town. Since you wanna go out so badly, I’ll let you.” He shoved him toward the door.

Billy hesitated. He could hear the rain outside, and he only had his t shirt and jeans to protect him. He didn’t even have his shoes on.

“Well? _Go._ ”

He started towards the door, already wondering how he was supposed to walk in the rain with no _shoes_ on. Was his dad actually trying to kill him? Have him catch pneumonia so Billy could finally be off his hands?

He startled at Max’s sudden voice. “Let him have shoes!” she shouted. Billy had forgotten she was still there. When he looked over her mom was holding onto her shoulders tightly, and Max was trying to break free. “Give him his freaking shoes!”

Neil looked surprised by Max’s reaction, which was really his own fault if he expected _Max_ to take anything sitting down when she could be kicking and screaming instead. It did the trick, though, and his dad snagged his own worn-out work sneakers and pulled open the door, tossing them out into the yard. The message was clear.

Billy stood in the doorway, trying to breathe through the pain and wrap his head around what to do. Then, with one jarring kick from behind that caught him more in the knees than the back, he tumbled down the steps and into the grass. He could see the beat-up tennis shoes strewn across the yard, and knew they’d already be soaked by now. He just held onto the soggy grass for a minute, trying to manage his pain and get his breathing under control. He only gave himself a minute, though, afraid that the porch light would start flickering in warning. With great effort, he finally pulled himself up to stand.

Dots clouded his vision for a moment, and he was afraid that he might either puke or pass out on the lawn. When it finally passed, he shrugged the shoes on and tried to ignore how the effort exerted made his body feel like it was on fire. The face was the easiest pain to manage. It was the ribs and his damn hand that were giving him the most trouble. And to think that the hand was completely on accident.

There wasn’t much else to do other than walk at this point. It was still raining heavily, and no one else seemed to be in the mood for a walk at night in the pouring rain. For God knows how long Billy just focused on putting one foot in front of the either, trying to block out both the cold and the pain.

His body was continually racked with shivers, which in turn made his ribs throb. His dad had broken his ribs once before, and while it wasn’t quite that degree of pain, it was still way more than his usual discomfort level. His left hand was jammed under his armpit, and whenever he jostled it even slightly it would send a zing of pain up the rest of his arm. When he was putting on his shoes earlier, he had tried to flex the fingers, but had quit soon after when it became too much. _At least it’s not my writing hand_ , he thought miserably to himself.

When he was finally out of his neighborhood, he figured it was time to come up with some kind of a game plan. Obviously first instinct was to start heading Steve’s way, but that only stuck in his mind for a couple seconds before he talked himself out of it. Steve, who already asked way too many questions when Billy had even the most basic of bruises, would not be able to look at Billy right now without freaking out. Or even worse, doing something stupid like calling for help. Not to mention the fact that Billy didn’t exactly part with him on the best terms today, and who knew _what_ his reaction would be if Billy just came to his door, bloody. Billy was afraid too much of the possible rejection more than he was of trying to find a comfortable place to spend the night.

The only other place he could think of was Sally’s, which at least had a roof and heating. That was good enough to make him start steering in that direction. Having a destination in mind helped take his own mind off of everything for a bit. If he concentrated enough, he could almost ignore the rain pelting his body, too. At least it was washing the blood away.

When he finally got to Sally’s he was relieved to see it was at its usual low capacity. Billy barely paid Missy a glance before heading to the usual booth in the back. Over there, he could curl up in the corner and be mostly hidden from everyone else, which was the blessing he was looking for. The blast of hot air from the vent overhead made him shiver even worse for a little bit, but at least now he was drying off. His teeth were still chattering when Missy dropped off a steaming mug of black coffee in front of him.

“Thanks.” He muttered, unwilling to make eye contact.

Even at the corner of his eye he could see that she was giving him a look, or maybe just trying to get a good look at him; both of which he didn’t feel like dealing with right now.

The hot mug helped his fingers marginally warm up, and the coffee made him feel a little more normal. Walking in the rain the last twenty minutes or so had put him in a fugue-like state that he was still trying to shake himself out of. By the time Missy came to refill his coffee, he was feeling more and more in the present. He said thanks for the refill again, grateful that he at least had his wallet on him.

“You don’t look so hot, kid,” Missy’s raspy smoker’s voice jarred him out of his silence. She was standing there, holding the steaming pot of coffee, and ignoring the table trying to wave her down a couple feet away. “What happened to _you_?”

He deigned to look up. Missy didn’t look horrified or disgusted like he had thought she would. Rather, she stood there with a hand on her hip and some raised eyebrows. He gave a shrug rather than replying. Even that move tugged on something in his chest, and he was unable to hide the hiss of pain that followed. Missy just sighed, gave him a more exaggerated version of the look she had just given him, before finally pretending to notice that other table.

At least he had somewhere to stay for a little bit. The more he was getting warmed up the more his body seemed to ache. His fingers were still stiff and swollen, no matter how much he had warmed them up since entering. They looked bad, too, with his pinkie and ring finger sitting crookedly. His face felt like it was one big ache, no way to pin down which was the biggest point of pain because they all seemed to blur together. He could taste blood at the back of his throat and knew there was some drying above his lip. His back was sore, too, which was nothing new.

The ribs were currently what he was struggling with most the most. While the pain in his hand was no joke, it was nothing at all compared to the searing pain that bloomed every time he breathed. He was surprised he had even been able to lift himself off the gravel but figured it had been the adrenaline rush at the time. Part of him wanted to go to the bathroom and survey all the damage, but he didn’t feel like getting out of the booth now that he was finally comfortable.

All Billy had to do was wait out the rain for a couple of hours, try to find a safe corner somewhere to hide out, and then creep back into his house in the morning. It was just a matter of passing the time. And finding the place.

In the end, the choice was suddenly taken out of his hands. When the bell over the door rang, Billy looked up to watch in horror as Steve walked in. Of fucking course he did. Steve, who never had his parent’s around and was always picking up dinner from the local restaurant’s around town, _had_ to come pick up his goddamn fried chicken sandwich at Sally’s the _one_ night Billy was trying to avoid him. Once again, the universe just had to prove to Billy that it could still pull one over on him.

He tried to hunch his shoulders and make himself smaller, and he might have succeeded in hiding in plain sight, when of course Missy had to run her big mouth.

“Your friend’s in the booth,” he heard her rasp to Steve, who was maybe only a foot in the door at this point, “Make sure he doesn’t bleed on the seats.”

Billy tried to scrunch in on himself further, already aware that it was no use, but unable to stop himself anyways. Steve, whose face had morphed from confusion to sudden realization, was now determinedly walking toward the booth. Billy braced himself.

“What in the _fuck_?!”

Steve didn’t sit in the booth but rather stood at the mouth of it, blocking Billy from exiting unless he was desperate enough to climb the long expanse of seating to the other side. Billy was strongly considering it. Steve was still waiting on answer.

“A guy can’t get a cup of coffee in peace?” He ground out, his jaw throbbing momentarily as he forced the words out.

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about.” Damn. Steve looked pissed. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone with a joke. “What the hell _happened_ to you?”

Billy gave him a look. It didn’t feel as effective when he was basically squinting out of his left eye, and Steve’s own expression in response let Billy know he has similarly unimpressed. God, this was exactly why he hadn’t gone to Steve’s in the first place, to avoid the third degree. Not only was he getting just that right now, but the few people in the restaurant kept looking curiously over at them. He squirmed in the booth, valiantly trying to ignore how even the slight movement caused a fresh wave of pain in his chest.

Steve, per usual, noticed and stole a glance around them as well. He tried to block Billy more from view, for all the good it did seeing as a spectacle had already been made.

“ _Billy_ ,” Steve said lowly, looking at him so earnestly Billy had to look back down at his coffee. “Come on, let’s—let me just drive you to my house, okay? I know you don’t wanna talk here.”

He felt like scrubbing a hand over his face. Knew it would sting if he did it, so he just kept his eyes closed. He didn’t want to have a talk _at all_ , let alone with the person he always dreaded most seeing him at this state. Knowing Steve, though, if Billy refused, he would just sit in the booth right there and begin the interrogation. He wished he had just tried for cover under an awning of a store rather than come here. He would still be drenched and shivering but at least he’d be _alone_.

“Fine,” he grit out, knowing even with his eyes still closed that Steve was just hovering there, waiting. He went to dig his wallet out of his back pocket, but the maneuver was awkward since he was still trying to keep his injured hand under the safety of his arm. Steve watched his struggle for about two seconds before shaking his head and drawing out his own wallet, dropping down a five.

Billy wanted to say something about that, of course, but in proving the point he would be forced to actually get out his own money to pay, and since that seemed pretty impossible right now, he just settled for letting Steve take that one.

“Something tells me you’re not able to drive.” Steve intoned as they exited the diner. “Actually, where’d you park your car? I don’t see it.”

Question after question. And none of them had good answers. “Car’s at home.”

Steve stopped. “How did you get here, then?”

“Flew in on a fucking broomstick, Harrington,” he bit out, briskly moving past Steve to get to the Beamer.

Steve unlocked the car, but didn’t start it when they both got in. Instead, he was looking at Billy, who was almost panting from lifting himself into the car one-handed. “Billy, I know you _really_ don’t wanna talk right now, but we have to.”

“Right now, right now?” He asked, still a little breathless. “Can’t you save the third degree for me for once we get back to your place?”

“No, because I feel like you’re just gonna make up a story to tell me the whole drive there. I feel like even if I ask you right _now,_ you’re not gonna tell me anything.”

“There’s nothing to tell, man,” He sounded as tired as he felt. “You know how I operate. Get in a bad mood, get in a fight. End of story.”

“Where’s your car?”

Billy shivered a little, the cold from outside seeping into the car. Steve saw him shudder immediately and rushed to turn the car on, get the heat going. Billy was thankful for the warm blast of air, but it also made his face feel worse. He tried to push the vents down, but Steve beat him to it.

“Alright, no, you’re right. I’m just going to take you back to my house and I guess that’s where you’ll give me the silent treatment.” Steve sounded very put upon, but Billy had no illusions that it would end there.

He didn’t say anything. Steve just jerked the car into drive and took off, driving faster than Billy knew he usually went.

It was ten minutes of driving before Billy had a realization. “Your food,” he said out loud, cringing at how loud it sounded in the otherwise silent car, “You left it there.”

Steve glanced over at him, but only for a moment before sticking his eyes back onto the road. “It doesn’t matter.”

Billy just kept his head facing the window and refused to say anything else. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say at this point, and it felt like anything he was able to come up with Steve wouldn’t end up believing anyway.

They got back to the house and Billy remembered how just hours ago he had dropped Steve off and sped off. He probably should’ve gone straight home in the morning, but the damage had to have already been done by then. His dad had been stewing over that college acceptance letter all night. Wouldn’t have made a difference in the outcome either way, but Billy had somehow squandered his day with Steve by arguing with him at the end of it. Just typical Billy stuff.

Getting out of the car was thankfully easier than getting in, but Steve definitely took notice of how much Billy was favoring his left hand while also simultaneously holding onto his sides. Steve raced ahead of him and unlocked the door, holding it open and ignoring the scathing look Billy shot him for being treated like a girl. The door slammed behind them, and Billy flinched at the noise.

“Okay,” Steve tossed his keys onto the coffee table. “Go to the kitchen. I’m getting my first-aid kit.”

So, no immediate talk, then. Billy was grateful to stall the inevitable slew of questions, but the thought of Steve tending to his wounds wasn’t exactly trade off he wanted. He still sat himself down at the smaller table in the kitchen, though, where Steve had been sat just this morning. Which felt like an eon ago now.

Steve came back in with a legit looking bag, and when Billy looked taken aback, he just shook his head. “Nope. You don’t get to ask questions right now.” Was all he got from Steve.

He crouched in front of Billy, brow furrowing and trying to determine where the worst of the damage was. He settled on where Billy’s hand was still protectively curled under his armpit. “Show me your hand.” He demanded.

Billy did so, reluctantly. He knew Steve wouldn’t do anything crazy like grab his wrist to force him to show, but he was still coming down from the jitters of earlier. Steve, when he saw the hand, had a hard time concealing his concern. “Billy, this looks really bad. I’m pretty sure your fingers are broken.”

His hand hovered over it delicately, getting close but never touching. He looked up to Billy, trying to gauge his expression, But Billy didn’t have anything to offer. He knew the fingers were probably broken. Just didn’t know what he was supposed to do about it,

Steve didn’t like whatever he saw. “What about your chest? You keep wincing, like it hurts every second.” He nodded towards Billy. “Lift up your shirt.”

Billy opened his mouth, about to try to diffuse the tension with an unnecessary innuendo, but Steve beat him to it. “Don’t even start. Let me see.”

He huffed and tried to reach for the bottom of the white tee. It took more effort than he realized, though, since one of his hands was out of commission and every time he moved his torso too much he felt like he was breaking a sweat. Steve stilled him, delicately placing a hand on Billy’s free hand, and using his other to gently lift the shirt.

If it were just the usual delivery it probably would have taken more than a couple hours to sport some bruises, but Billy had already had some left over from before, and the force of his dad’s kicks tonight felt stronger than they had in the past. What wasn’t swollen or red was quickly developing into a dusky purple. Steve let his shirt fall back down and rested back on his heels, shaking, and looking more out of sorts than Billy had seen him in a while.

“Billy, we have to go somewhere for—”

“No!” he snarled back, just as quick.

Steve was shaking his head, looking boggled. “No, I don’t think you understand. We have to take you to, like, a hospital. You need someone to actually look at your injuries, I can’t do anything for your broken fingers, and I’m pretty sure your ribs are broken.”

All things that Billy knew. “No fucking hospitals,” he bit out anyways, knowing that if his dad found out he had been checked in _anywhere_ it’d be over for him.

Steve just stared and stared at him. There was a muscle twitching beneath his eye, and he looked angrier than that day after school when he had punched Billy. “God, I can’t believe I’m about to do this. I hope you know that you basically asked for this.” Then, he stood up and walked away.

Billy just sat there, confused, and unsure of what to do. Distantly he thought he could hear Steve leave through the front door, but that didn’t make any sense. He supposed he could get up and look for him, but that required a greater amount of energy than he was willing to give. Instead, he just passed the time by staring at the open emergency kit that Steve had left on the table. He dug through it with his good hand, found some Tylenol, and swallowed two dry while he waited. Wherever Steve was going Billy hoped he brought ice back with him.

It was maybe five or ten minutes before he heard the front door swing open. Steve was talking, but it wasn’t to him. “Once again, so _so_ sorry Mrs. Reynolds, I just didn’t know what else to do.”

Billy shot up. Or, well, he tried to shoot up as best as he could, which ended with him swaying on his feet and seeing stars for a moment as his chest screamed out in misery. When Steve and the mystery woman entered the kitchen, he was still trying to get his vision under control. “No hospitals,” he still managed to grit through his teeth.

Steve was already at his side, ushering him back down to sit at the table. “Yeah, yeah I heard you. I’m not taking you anywhere, I’m just having someone look at you.”

The woman Steve brough looked old enough to be his grandmother, and also had that grandmother quality of giving him a look that spoke both of endearment and pity. “Oh, honey, settle down a little bit.”

Billy calmed down a bit, feeling a little bad about giving an old woman a hard time, and let himself be tentatively examined. Her gnarled hands handled his wrist gently, turning it over while being careful not to jostle the hand too hard. “My, my, you’re certainly going to need something for those.”

When she had gingerly placed his hand on the table, she motioned for Steve to lift his shirt again. Billy let him, face heating up in the process and lamenting how he had truly hit rock bottom.

She glided her cold fingers over the skin on his ribs, prodding here and there. Billy flinched at most of her touches, trying not to but being unable to at some points. He kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling overhead and willed them not to tear up out of discomfort. Crying right now would just be the icing on the cake. He couldn’t even look Steve’s way right now, no matter how close they were in proximity.

After feeling around for a couple more minutes, she gestured for Steve to pull down his shirt. Finally, she cupped Billy’s jaw in one of her hands and pulled it down, so he was looking directly at her. She held her finger up with her other hand, tracking Billy’s vision. That was the only test he must have passed, because she looked a little satisfied at that.

“All right, son. Well, it’s probably no surprise for you to learn that your fingers are broken.” Yeah, he already knew that. One look at them and it was pretty obvious.

She continued, “But your ribs, I’m not too sure about. Without a proper x-ray I’ll have no way of knowing.”

“They’ve been broken, before,” he offered, ignoring the holes Steve was burning into the side of his head. “It hurts, but. Not like it did then.”

She didn’t look that satisfied but knew that that was probably the most she’d get out of him. “I don’t like hearing that, being a nurse. I’d really recommend you go see a doctor. But I know you’ve probably made up your mind, and Mr. Harrington seems to be under that impression too.”

She went to stand up, and Steve went with her. Billy just sat there, sure by now that whatever it was they were doing he was just gonna get told to stay here and wait anyways. “I’m getting some splints from my own medicine cabinet; I’m also going to bring some wrappings and arnica for the ribs. Stay put here while I get all that together.”

Steve walked her to the door and returned back to Billy. “I know you probably hate my guts for bringing her over here, but you didn’t wanna see anyone and she’s retired anyway, and she just lives a couple houses down, won’t say—”

“Steve,” he interrupted. “It’s fine. Thank you.”

“Billy,” his eyes looked wild. “You have to tell me what happened. Please, I’m begging you.”

“I _told_ you, I got in a fight. Lost big time. No big deal.”

“Why’s your car at home, then?”

“Why does that matter?” he questioned. He didn’t have a good enough answer for Steve.

“Because!” Steve burst, “How the fuck did you get to the diner in the first place!”

“I walked, okay?” Billy finally gave him, “Why does it matter?”

“Where’d you get int a fight, then? How’d you get there?”

Billy was at a loss for words. He didn’t have anything that sounded good, and Steve knew he had him cornered. He tried to will Steve’s neighbor to get there quicker, break up the tension building in the kitchen. The front door stayed closed, though, and Steve was waiting for whatever lie he concocted.

“Who’d you get into a fight with, Billy?” Steve’s voice sounded gentler now. That was almost worse than his anger. Billy tried to stave off the tears again, feeling weaker and weaker every moment that Steve kept badgering him.

“Please, Steve,” he begged, hating how his voice cracked. “Just stop. Just quit it for now.”

Steve wiped a hand over his face. Billy hated how disappointed and sad he was making Steve feel, but didn’t know any other way to go about it. He wished and wished for the old lady to come back.

“Billy, I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to talk about this, but I can’t just let this go. This isn’t like the other times; this isn’t like some random high school fight I’ve seen you get into.” He let out a breath. “This isn’t even like what you did to me. I have to know who did this to you.”

The moment lay suspended in time, and Billy knew it was up to him whatever direction the pendulum swung. If he wanted, he could tell Steve and end it all right now. But what good would that really do in the long run? He’d still have to go back home tomorrow, and he’d still have to face his dad every day. The only difference would be Steve’s looks of pity thrown in between.

The front door cracked open and they both flinched at the noise like it was a gunshot. Steve backed up from where he had been essentially holding Billy’s hand earlier, something Billy hadn’t even registered him doing. Mrs. Reynolds came back with an armful of supplies, and Billy was grateful for the distraction.

The Tylenol helped numb him down while she was applying the ointments and wrapping his ribs, tight but not too tight to inflict any further damage. Billy still didn’t feel like they were broken, but they ached something awful and he was thankful to have the bandage to keep him from clutching them.

The hand was the worst part of it, with him trying not to howl every time she repositioned a part of his finger and wrapped it in the splint. Billy watched her, distantly thinking about how he had no clue how he was supposed to explain them to his dad but tried not to let that bother him for now at least.

Finally, she rubbed some of the arnica gel on his face, which helped cool it a little bit. She said it would help with the bruises there, too, but his face had honestly been the least of his concerns right now. She advised him to keep taking the Tylenol every couple of hours and made sure to make Steve promise to call her if they needed anything else. By the time she left, and Billy looked to the clock on the microwave it was almost half past nine, so almost two measly hours since this had all gone down. Billy felt like he had aged a million years since then.

He thought the questioning was going to continue once she left, but Steve stayed remarkably silent, instead fixing up the couch special for Billy to sleep on. It was unspoken that he was going to spend the night again, but Billy didn’t know how Steve had come to that conclusion as well. Maybe he knew he’d be able to hold Billy hostage in the morning to get more answers.

Billy settled back down on the couch, feeling at least a bit better than he had for most of the day. Steve made no movements to go up to his own room, though, just puttered in through the rooms of the house. “Just go to sleep,” he told Billy, passing by him, and going to mess with the stuff in the kitchen.

He tried to keep his eyes open for as long as he could, but the day just ended up catching up to him and knocking him out one final time in a heavy block of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lemme know what you guys think! i love reading your comments and i'm dying to hear about what ya'll think of the stroy, all of the email notifications i get fuel my soul lol. it still looks like i'm going to be at 5 chapters, but who knows! hopefully i'll be able to work with the spacing and timing to make that possible. hope you guys enjoyed! steve's POV will follow next!


	4. when you feel cold, i'll warm you, and when you feel you can't go on, i'll come and hold you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wheeeeeeew sorry about the long wait! with holidays this chapter kind of got the best of me, for a while i was jsut sat there stumped and unable to write. hope you guys enjoy!

Steve keeps a constant vigil by Billy’s side most of the night. Which, he didn’t really mean to at first. After a couple hours of anxiously hovering over Billy and kidding himself, he finally accepts the inevitable and parks it into the plush armchair right next to the couch.

Billy looks peaceful sleeping. Well, about as peaceful as someone who’s broken two fingers and _maybe_ cracked some ribs can sleep. For the first hour or so after he put Billy on the couch, Steve cleaned so thoroughly and methodically he had to physically stop himself from picking up the Comet and heading up to hit the upstairs bathrooms. To go upstairs would be to lose sight of Billy, which really isn’t in his immediate plans right now.

The puttering at least stopped the shaking in his hands that had been building since he had gotten his first good look at Billy in the diner. After that, he had sunken into the armchair and committed to watching over him. He stayed awake, a little bit because he was afraid if he drifted off, he would wake them _both_ up with his screaming after a nightmare. Mostly, though, it was because he was afraid Billy would randomly need something in the middle of the night, and he might be in too much pain to get it for himself. Or what Steve knew was probably his first instinct; randomly sneaking off without saying a word.

He ended up stewing in his own misery for most of the night. If his mind wasn’t on the _what_ , it was on the _why_ , _who_ , or _how_. He knew Billy would be just as evasive as the night before. Steve also knew that a good night of sleep would make it easier for Billy to come up with a believable lie. So, Steve was prepared to wait. Not for a long time, hopefully a couple days at most, but he would bide his time to get the answers he wanted. For now, he would play along with whatever bullshit Billy would come up with.

Sometime around five, when it was still dark and moody outside, Billy shot up from the couch. He had woken up so abruptly, gasping in big, huge gulps of air, that Steve nearly startled out of his seat. Billy wildly looked around the room, before finally landing on Steve and sagging for a second. Steve saw relief in Billy’s eyes, before it was quickly replaced with unease. So, he was probably remembering the night before.

Hs chest wasn’t moving as rapidly up and down, now, and he gave a grimace before holding his uninjured hand to his torso. At the sight, Steve got himself back into gear and left to go get some of that Tylenol Billy had taken the night before. He also poured a water for him, blushing abruptly at the memory of what Billy had said to him the night of the party, when he’d done almost the exact same thing. A slurred, _well, well, looks like I’ve got_ two _tall glasses of water._ Steve had blushed deeply then, too.

All those thoughts left the window, though, when he came back into the living room to see Billy attempting to stand.

“Sit.” He ordered immediately, impressed with how firm his voice sounded and how Billy obeyed without protest. He looked chastened, which wasn’t a look he saw often on Billy, and suddenly felt bad for barking out a command.

He gave Billy the pills and the water. Steve watched him swallow the pills down, making sure that Billy drained the whole glass of water as well. God knows he probably had the headache of a lifetime, and water would at least do _something_. He should’ve asked Mrs. Reynolds for a thorough aftercare plan, not that he was even able to think that far ahead at the time. Last night he had weighed the consequences: leaving Billy injured and untreated or risking whatever happened when Mrs. Reynolds inevitably told Steve’s parents why he randomly knocked on her door on a Saturday night. She had been a godsend, but Steve was still too dumb to remember to ask what he should do the next morning. Billy still looked rough. And the only thing Steve was really doing was forcing him to drink a full glass of water.

It felt kind of strangely intimate, just watching Billy drink his water down like a hawk, but Billy didn’t say anything about it. Didn’t even look Steve’s way, just kept his eyes shut and chugged the glass. He looked like he was dying of thirst, but it was still painful to swallow it all down. His hurt hand lay at his side, the bulky splints from probably the general pharmacy standing out starkly against the rest of his hand. When Billy was done drinking, Steve carefully sat back down in the armchair, afraid that any sudden movement would spook him back into leaving.

“So,” he started, when it became clear by Billy’s silence that _he_ was going to have to be the one to break the tension. “How are you feeling?”

It was still dark in the living room, but there was a light in the hallway illuminating them. The slab of golden light filling the room set Billy’s face into a warm glow, which looked odd against his dark bruises. He could see Billy’s face twist up before he gave a dry snort.

“Never better.”

That was what he had expected. It didn’t make him any less irritated with Billy’s tight-lipped response. “Right. Well. Sorry for asking, seeing as you’re obviously in great shape.” He felt a little ungenerous.

That made Billy wince, wearing that cowed look on his face again. Steve had a difficult time keeping a hard heart about it when Billy looked so _tame_. “Billy, I didn’t…”

“No, it’s okay. You’re right. M’sorry.” Billy scratched the back of his head, right where a bunch of curls were knotted up from last night. He looked unsure of himself, totally out of his depth, and Steve couldn’t even be the lifeline he needed.

Steve didn’t reply, wondering if Billy would now fill the silence. It was his turn to do so. When Billy uncomfortably cleared his throat, Steve counted it as a win. “Last night, things just got… out of control. I’m good though. Swear.”

He left it there. Steve raised his eyebrows after a moment, realizing that this was truly all Billy was going to offer. Not that he really expected Billy to gab his ear off or give him a tell-all, but the paltry sum he got was barely any crumbs. It just cemented the idea forming at the back of his mind more.

“I’m assuming this is all you’re gonna give, right?” He asked drily. Might as well play it cool. “And if I ask any more, you’re just gonna shut me down?”

This time the look Billy gave him wasn’t the same as the other ashamed ones. It was sheepish, and he could see in the line of Billy’s shoulders that he was relieved Steve didn’t seem to be taking it seriously. “Probably, yeah.”

Steve spread his hands on his knees. “Okay, then. I’ll just bite my tongue.” He didn’t want to outright lie to Billy, though, so he added, “For now.”

Billy at least seemed more at ease now that Steve had agreed to “drop it”, and Steve felt a little bad for deceiving him. In the long run, though, Steve felt justified. If Billy wasn’t going to let him help, then he’d just _force_ his help on Billy.

“What times’ it?” Billy asked.

“Just after five.” He wondered what had jolted Billy awake in the first place. “You can sleep in a little more, if you want.” He offered. Steve tried not to think of how it was an excuse to stare at Billy’s sleeping face for a couple more hours.

But Billy shook his head. “Nah, I better go. Gotta sneak in before the old man wakes up.” When he said this his eyes snapped to Steve’s before flickering away. It made sense, but…

“Won’t he see you got into a fight anyway?” He could understand Billy trying to hide the injuries from his dad, but it wasn’t like the injuries weren’t _noticeable_.

Billy shrugged a shoulder tensely. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll figure it out.”

Once again, it was like pulling teeth. He sighed, “Okay, lemme grab my jacket and keys.”

He looked Billy over, still in the white tee from last night. There were drops of dried blood at the collar, and there was another rusty stain partway down. He was surprised more hadn’t gotten on the shirt. When he had first seen Billy in the diner, the sight of his bruised and bloodied face had made Steve almost nauseated at first. The rain had done an okay job of smearing most of it off, but in the middle of the night the cut on his eyebrow had torn a bit, again, and Steve had to use an iron will to keep himself from standing over Billy and dabbing at his wounds.

Just staring at the brown blobs was kind of making him sick again. “You wanna borrow a jacket?”

Billy shook his head. “Nope. Just be sure to blast the heat.”

Steve kept it toasty the entire drive. The ride over was silent; with Billy choosing not to break the quiet, and Steve unsure _how_ to, since Billy was being so close-lipped. He could see Billy out of the corner of his eye, hunched in on himself and brimming with anxiety. It made Steve feel even worse for him, seeing his palpable stress. He wondered what Billy would tell his dad. Wondered what Billy usually told his dad whenever this happened.

At the junction to turn on Billy’s street, he felt a hand shoot out and grab his wrist. He willed himself not to flinch, instead pressing down on the brakes and turning to face Billy.

Billy wasn’t looking at him. “Just stop here.” His voice was wooden.

Steve wanted to protest, since it was still pretty chilly in the mornings, and he didn’t want Billy exerting any more effort than he needed. He still stopped, though, because he knew when it was useless to protest. Billy was already hopping out before he rolled to a complete stop at the sign. He just started off into the still dark morning, not even bothering to turn back or give a cheeky wave.

Instead, when Steve stayed parked there to make sure Billy got to his house okay, he watched as Billy haphazardly took off his splints and shoved them into the back pocket of his jeans.

Steve wanted to floor it, wanted to shove the splints back on, and walk up with Billy to the stoop to demand Billy be brought to a hospital, or clinic, _somewhere_. All he could do, though, was sit in his car and watch as Billy slouched on the front porch. The door didn’t open. Billy took to leaning on the wall. When he spotted Steve still at the mouth of the street, headlights blazing, he waved him away with an annoyed look. Steve drove off, feeling rotten to the core for doing so.

~

Billy doesn’t show up to school Monday morning.

Everyone is all buddy-buddy with Steve again, since he made an appearance at the party Friday. The party feels like forever ago, and all the smiles he gives back sit false and wrong on his face. A couple people ask him about Billy. _He was so trashed_ , most of them say, _what happened_? Steve just thinks, _buddy, I’d like to know too_.

Nancy and Jonathan try to talk to him during lunch, but he spends it watching the parking lot from the courtyard trying to will the Camara roaring up. It doesn’t.

Math class comes next and Steve sits in his usual seat. Ironically, since it’s the week before spring break, they’re not covering any new material in class. Steve spends the entire class period glancing at Billy’s empty seat right next to him while the rest of the class reviews.

Tuesday is the same, the only difference is that Steve’s desperation mounts new levels. He drives by Billy’s house after school, and sees the Camaro still parked in the driveway. For a split second he thinks about knocking on the door and asking to see Billy himself, but he loses his nerve. It seems like the type of thing Billy would beg him not to do. 

He decides to move forward with his plan. Later that night, he calls the Henderson household and offers to take Dustin to and from school tomorrow, A.V. Club included. Dustin is a little confused when he shows up Wednesday morning, but his excitement outweighs any suspicion over Steve’s sudden appearance. Steve feels bad that he’s doing this for nefarious reasons, but _something’s_ gotta give.

Steve drops Dustin off at the middle school and lingers in the parking lot long enough to see Max get dropped off in a dinky, brown Corolla. That answers his question if Billy will show up at all today. He waits until the Corolla has turned out of sight, before jumping out of his car.

“Max!” he calls across the parking lot. He’s uncomfortably aware that he’s a high school senior calling out for an eighth-grade girl in public and makes the decision in his mind to have this go as quickly as possible. Knowing Max and her ability of evasion makes him a little skeptical it’ll actually go that smoothly.

Max whips around, face scrunched up in irritation before she sees Steve. At the sight of him, her face drops from annoyance to nervous. It reinforces Steve’s will just a little more to have this conversation. She stops where she’s at, and Steve jogs to meet her.

“Hey, Steve,” she says casually, almost a little too casual. She shifts from foot to foot.

He sees Will and Mike standing off a little further, where Dustin has now joined them. When Dustin turns and sees Steve is still there, he makes to come over again but Steve waves him away before looking back at Max.

“We need to talk about Billy.”

Max just tucks her hair behind her ears, even though there’s no strands loose. “What’s up?”

“Are you joking, Max?” His eyebrows are a mile up his forehead. He _knows_ she’d had to have taken a good look at Billy by now. “Has anyone taken him to a hospital yet? He begged me not to.” He tacks on.

She gapes at him, eyes narrowing and running over his face. “Wait, you know?”

“What, that someone beat him to a pulp Saturday? Was it supposed to be some secret?” Going off the expression on Max’s face, the answer is yes.

Why keep it a secret, though? What’s the point? _You’re missing something, stupid_.

She’s staring at Steve like she’s trying to get a read on him. Even though they’re not related, Billy and Max’s eyes are only shades apart in that startling, searching blue. They both had the same way of pinning those wild eyes on you, where enough exposure made you wanna take a step back. Even now, Steve resists the urge. “Do you know _who_ beat Billy?”

Her tone is measured, like she’s testing him rather than asking an actual question she needs answers to. He almost wants to tear his hair out in frustration. Why is she being so _difficult?_

“Max, do _you_ know?” He has to ask. He immediately gets his answer when Max’s face visibly closes off, another move that seems like it’s been directly lifted from Billy.

When she doesn’t answer, he steps forward. “Max, _please_. You have to tell me. I have to know who did this to him.”

“I can’t tell you!”

Her voice is firm, but she’s no match for an overcome Steve. “You wanted me to check on him sometimes, remember? That’s what you asked me.”

Silence from Max. Just more of her looking gloomy and shifty, glancing back over to where he knows the boys are waiting and watching.

His hands are around her arms now, not squeezing but trying to make sure she stays planted there. “I’m trying to look out for him, I’m _trying_ , but I can’t when you guys keep stuff from me.”

She’s not even looking at him, even though he’s only a couple inches away. He’s barely resisting the urge to give her a good shake. It’s hard not to grow frustrated, especially when she’s the one who asked him to do this in the first place. “Why won’t you tell me, Max? Who is it? Do they go to our school?”

Max still doesn’t answer, just shaking her head back and forth, and it takes Steve a couple of seconds to realize her body’s practically vibrating in his hands. Her face is getting red, again, just like that night in the car. “Max…” he tries to say, but he’s already too late.

In an almost jarring comparison to Billy waking up just three days ago, she’s gasping in these gulps of air that look like they hurt more than they help. Steve’s been on the receiving end of a panic attack enough to know what the beginning of one looks like, but the shock of being the one to cause it has him dumbly forgetting everything to do during one, and he numbly releases her arms from his grip. She sways a little bit, still sniffling and trying to get a good breath in. Steve, in his stupidity, clumsily reaches for her again.

Max backs away, though, and this time he can see her furiously blinking the tears out of her eyes. The hard, mean look that she’s tried to make her default since arriving is back.

Steve can tell when a battle is lost but tries anyway for her sake. “Max, I-I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to make you upset. I’m just—” _I’m just trying to help_ doesn’t seem like a fair statement when he’s brought Max to tears in the middle of the fucking school parking lot.

Of course, that’s when he sees Dustin, Will, and Mike approaching, this time with Lucas leading the pack.

“Max?” Lucas is hoovering, off to the side. “You okay?” he tries to step forward.

She’s not having any of it, though, and backs up from Lucas as well. “Get the fuck away from me!” she says to no one in particular. Her tone isn’t angry enough to hide the cracking at the edges. It’s just another imitation of Billy, Steve realizes, to jump to the defense when emotions are on the line. It almost makes him hysterical thinking about it, though, and he resists the urge to badger her one last time.

Before anyone can say anything else, she pushes past all of them to speed-walk towards the school. Will recovers the quickest, and rushes to catch up with her. Mike and Dustin stand there, awkwardly, while Lucas turns to face Steve.

“What did you say to her?” He demands angrily. “Why was she so upset?”

Most of the kids are going in at this point, and distantly Steve is aware that he’s really having this happen in a middle school parking lot. He wishes that he had just kept his trap shut and never went ahead with this stupid idea in the first place. He just _had_ to try, had to see if he could get any answers whatsoever.

He considers making a run for it. Would probably be pathetic as all hell, but at least he’d be safe in his car from whatever dressing down he’s about to receive. Lucas is inescapable though.

“I can’t tell you,” he says at last, because if _anything’s_ clear it’s that everything Billy and Max adjacent is under wraps.

That’s not a good enough answer for Lucas. Steve doesn’t blame him: he’s been given that one a couple times now and can agree it’s annoying as fuck. But he’s not about to air Billy’s dirty laundry to a bunch of middle schoolers that hate him, so it’s all Steve can offer now.

“What the hell, man?! Why—”

“Lucas, it wasn’t as bad as it looked. I just…” He trailed off, unsure of what lie to even _say_ at this point. They all saw him arguing with Max, and they all saw her walk away upset.

“Oh really? Then what was it? She was _crying_ and _you_ were the one who—"

“Stop!” Dustin interjects. “Maybe Steve had a good reason.” He doesn’t look like he fully believes it either, though, and looks pretty unsure when he regards Steve. “Right?”

Steve opens his mouth, not really sure what he’s gonna answer but wanting to give _something_ to assure them that he’s got a good reason for seemingly harassing Max. Luckily, the ten-minute bell goes off, and Lucas curses and gives one last hateful glare Steve’s way before retreating with Mike. Dustin looks like he wants to say something else, but at the last minute changes his mind and follows the others.

He stands there, brooding and sulking, and finally cuts his losses. On the way to his car—still running—he kicks a rock, irked. He’s gonna be late for first period. It doesn’t matter, it’s not like he’ll be paying attention for the rest of the day. Instead, he runs it all over and over and over again in his head.

He can’t stop thinking of what both Billy _and_ Max have said to him. That first time, in the car, Max had hopelessly said, _I wish I could tell you_. Saturday afternoon, before everything went to shit, Billy had said, _I can’t man! I just can’t tell you!_

Steve doesn’t even bother meeting up with Nancy and Jonathan for lunch. Instead, he takes a page out of Billy’s book and spends it in his car. He’s craving a cigarette like no other right now, and it figures it would be the only time Billy isn’t there to offer him one. Both of their words just keep twisting and twisting in his head, intertwining until they sound like the same layered, eerie voice. What can’t they both tell him? He’s dumb, but not dumb enough to be able to ignore when certain things overlap.

He’s barely present for the rest of the school day, at least mentally. Between thinking about Billy, thinking about Max, and absolutely _dreading_ driving Dustin home from A.V. Club, he ends up in one of the shittiest moods he’s had in a while.

Billy isn’t there to play basketball with him after school. Not that he really expected them to play this week, anyway, but after not having a tutoring session last night Steve just feels disappointed. Billy was the break in the monotony he had been coasting through the past year, and without Billy here he suddenly feels lonelier than before, which is really saying a lot. He dribbled the ball in the gym after school anyways, Billy or not, but when it’s just him in the gym it feels like the ball echoes off the floor louder than it ever has.

He purposefully takes a little longer than usual to get to the middle school, in hopes of maybe avoiding some third degree from the kids. It works for the most part, all he really gets is a passing glare from Lucas through the windshield that he valiantly ignores, but when Dustin slides in he can tell that he’s about to be in for it.

When Dustin doesn’t immediately talk like he desperately wants to, Steve knows he has to say something.

“So, about this morning… um, I know it looked bad.”

Dustin stays silent. Steve resists the urge to fidget in his seat. He _shouldn’t_ be intimidated by a damn middle-schooler, but he can’t explain the antsy feeling any other way.

He takes a deep breath and tries to continue. “Look. I don’t know what Max told you, but… I wasn’t trying to, ya’ know, _hurt_ her. I was just trying to… get some answers.”

“About Billy, right?” Dustin asks without looking at him.

Hearing Dustin say Billy’s name almost jolts him. “Uh, I—”

“I heard you. Well, we all kinda heard you, technically. You were kind of acting loony, there.”

He glances at Dustin. Dustin is too busy staring out the window to look back. He doesn’t know what to say here to make Dustin feel better. Part of him desperately wants to tell it all, wants to lay the facts bare and have Dustin help him deduce what’s really going on.

But that’s too much to ask of a middle-schooler. Last time they talked about… well, Billy, it was obvious Dustin was still freaked after that night all those months ago. He was afraid Billy was just going to beat Steve’s face in again. Ironic, given what Steve’s been mulling over the past few days.

Not for the first time, Steve wishes he weren’t such a shitty liar. You’d think growing up a privileged, snotty, rich boy would somehow make him a world-class bullshitter, but his face is so open that it’s no wonder how everyone always knows when he’s hiding something.

“Dustin,” he finally decides to try to take the reins on this thing. If anything, just so that Dustin will get that sad look off his face. “I know I freaked you guys out this morning. And that was my bad. Something… stressful is just going on right now, and it made me stressed. But I still shouldn’t have acted like that this morning.”

Now Dustin finally turns to face him. “What has you so stressed about Billy?” At Steve’s hedging look, he continues, “No, seriously. I thought he was just tutoring you. Now you’re shaking Max in the morning and interrogating her about her evil step-brother.”

He winces. Yeah, not really one of his finer moments, but at the time he was just so at the end of his tether that it had felt like the only way to get through to her. “Did Max say anything?”

Dustin narrowed his eyes. “No. She didn’t say anything _at all_ , and then she skipped A.V. Club. Lucas doesn’t even know why. And don’t think I didn’t notice you avoiding the question. So _why_ were you acting like a crazy person this morning? Was that the only reason why you wanted to pick me up?”

God, it’s too much to think about while he’s driving. They’re only about ten minutes from Dustin’s, but he pulls over to the side of the road anyway. This time when he turns to face Dustin, he makes sure to face him head-on, with full eye contact. Dustin at least senses the serious mood Steve’s giving off and keeps uncharacteristically silent.

“Billy and I are… well, we’re friends,” he starts. May as well jump in with _something_ that’s truthful. Dustin bites his lip and looks like he wants to interject, so Steve rushes on. “We are. And it’s not just ‘cause of tutoring, or whatever, we’re actual _friends._ ”

He gauges Dustin’s reaction. He looks a little bit disgusted, but he doesn’t try to yammer his ear off about why that’s a bad idea, so Steve considers it some kind of progress.

When Dustin still doesn’t speak, he takes that as the sign to keep going. “Billy is complicated. Right now, he’s going through some stuff, and he’s not telling me anything. I got really frustrated and tried to talk to Max this morning, but as you could see, I went kinda off the deep end.” And because he _has_ to assure Dustin, “It wasn’t the full reason why I asked your mom if I could drive you, I could’ve given any excuse to do it.”

He waits for the fallout. Dustin just looks thoughtful, now, rather than wearing that pinched hurt expression that had been clouding his face earlier. He looks more confused if anything. “Okay, I guess. But I’m not really understanding why you acted like that.”

Embarrassed, he scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, I don’t know why either, buddy. I just got scared I guess.”

“Scared for Billy?” Dustin looks disbelieving. “How could that be possible? No offense, but he seems like he can take care of himself.”

“You’d be surprised.” He responds drily. When Dustin gives him a _really, Steve?_ look he doubles down. “No, I’m serious. Sometimes things just aren’t what they seem. _You_ should know that more than anyone else.”

Dustin huffed. “Alright. Fine. But that still doesn’t explain why you were acting so weird today. You could’ve just asked her. Or Billy.”

“Don’t you think I’ve tried?” Steve laughed despairingly. Saturday afternoon he had felt _so close_ to finally pulling _something_ out of Billy, only to crash and burn horrendously. “He won’t give me anything. Max won’t either.”

“Oka-ay,” Dustin looked at him like he said something obvious. “Shouldn’t that tell you that it’s not a big deal, then? Or that _maybe_ you should just drop it?”

“It’s not—it’s not that simple.” He ran a hand through his hair fretfully. “Anyway, I don’t wanna get any more into that. But I am sorry for freaking you guys out. I know Max hates my guts now, and Lucas does too, but I really wasn’t trying to be that… crazy. Just lost myself for a bit.”

Dustin looks at him in commiseration. “I’m sure they don’t _actually_ hate your guts. Lucas is just mad. And Max… I know she gets weird about Billy too sometimes. So, she probably doesn’t hate you too.”

Part of Steve wants to immediately ask _what does Max say about Billy?_ But that’d be pushing it too far. He’s only just been able to convince Dustin that he shouldn’t be institutionalized. Asking any more about Billy will just make it sound like everything was a lie.

He drives Dustin the last ten minutes home, happy at least that there’s _one_ relationship in his life that’s going alright.

He gets back home to an empty house. Per usual. Having no one to hang with the past three days makes it feel even emptier, even more like a mausoleum that he sometimes has nightmares about.

The fact of the matter is that Dustin raised a good point. If Billy just didn’t want him to know something, then shouldn’t Steve just drop it?

But he couldn’t. He knew that plain and simple. It was like this itch at the back of his head, constantly aching for him to give attention to it. Billy had wormed his way, somehow, into every crevice of his mind. Any moment he wasn’t thinking about his colossal fuck-up with Max he had been thinking about Billy; what Billy was doing, how Billy looked, how Billy _felt_. Why was he so obsessed? Why couldn’t Steve just have _one_ thought to himself without it concerning Billy?

 _It’s like I have a crush or something_ , the thought came unbidden in his mind. Once it was there, though, he couldn’t get it out.

A crush on Billy? The thought itself seemed ridiculous, but then, why was he fixating on it so much? The truth was Steve almost _never_ stopped thinking of Billy. And seeing as the last time he had had even a _fraction_ of this mounting obsession it had been for Nancy; it wasn’t like it was that crazy of an idea. Nancy had occupied most of his waking thoughts, having him pursue her with a dogged determination he had never given anyone else before. When they were dating his thoughts had been a constant stream of _Nancy, Nancy, Nancy_ , and it had been that way for a bit even after they broke up. Since when did _Nancy, Nancy, Nancy,_ become _Billy, Billy Billy?_

But it had. Sometime between that conversation in the middle of the night and now, he had become positively engrossed in everything concerning Billy. Infatuated, if he was being completely honest. Steve had always been a sucker for someone who was funny, and after dating Nancy he realized he liked brains on a person as well; two things that fit Billy perfectly.

A lot of things about it made sense, too. Like that weird, hot feeling he got under his skin every time Billy called him _pretty boy_. Or why he had blushed so hard when Billy had called him a _tall glass of water_. It also explained the weird nervousness he got every time it was him and Billy in the showers alone. Steve had showered with Tommy after gym for _years_ and had never felt that way before. Every time it was just him and Billy under the showerheads, it was like Steve was aware of every second, every movement, and every inch that seemed to be between their bodies.

 _Actually_ , now that he thought about it, he had done some very questionable things; like checking out Billy’s abs and almost getting caught that one morning they ate breakfast, the way his body always got warm wherever Billy had accidentally brushed against him or touched him, his own weird moment when Billy had fallen down on the driveway and Steve had brushed gravel off his cheek. At the time, Steve didn’t know _what_ had made him pause and stare at Billy’s face, but he thought maybe he knew now.

Next, Steve tried to picture what it’d be like to actually _date_ Billy, what it would be like to _kiss_ him. The sudden image of Billy with his tongue popped in his cheek came up and fantasizing about what else it could do almost had Steve choking on his spit as he thought about it. Picturing Billy kissing _him_ made him feel a little hot under the collar and had his heart racing in his chest. Well, that answered that. Having Billy’s attention on him even when they were just hanging out was enough to have him feeling nervous, and even the _thought_ of kissing Billy had him flushed a deep red. Not to mention the rest of the tingle it gave his body thinking of him and Billy in that sort of way.

It felt kind of good to be able to pin down the reason why he wasn’t so willing to back down about Billy, but with that realization came the one of what he was supposed to do now. Yeah, okay, maybe Steve had a massive crush on Billy, but what _now?_ There was no way he was actually going to _tell_ Billy, unless he wanted to either be phased out, had his face pummeled in, or both. He couldn’t very well tell anyone else, either, could hardly picture seeing Nancy and Jonathon at lunch and telling them, _Hey, I think I might be a little queer for Billy Hargrove_. And there was _no_ way he was even entertaining the thought of telling Dustin unless he wanted everyone else in the Party to know as well. Which included Max. God, this was so fucked.

He didn’t even _know_ if he qualified as queer, seeing as he’d never felt this way about a boy before Billy. The facts were indisputable, though: Steve had a crush on Billy, and Billy was a boy. Therefore, there had to be at least some part of him that was queer. Or maybe he was just Billy-sexual. Either way, he knew it was better kept as a secret.

Him and Billy were already at such a precarious balance right now, there was no way Steve was about to jeopardize that over some _crush_. Nothing would send Billy further away than knowing his closest friend was having _gay_ feelings for him. So, Steve would just do what he did best: suffer in silence. Whatever Billy was going through right now, he needed someone solid, not Steve overthinking is every move and analyzing whether Billy liked him _back_ or not. No, the least he owed to Billy was to pretend everything was normal. At least he was getting better at that.

Going to bed that night, he wondered what was going on in the Hargrove house. He didn’t think that Max would tell Billy how Steve had rounded on her this morning, but that was maybe some wishful thinking. He _hoped_ she wouldn’t tell, at least to save both of their hides. After all, Billy didn’t know that Max had approached him in the first place those months ago. Not that that really justified the manic way Steve had questioned her this morning, but at least it was something he could grasp onto. Billy would think Steve was a freak even more than usual if Max told him literally anything that had happened today. Plus, it would take away from his whole _guess I won’t bother you_ air he was putting on for Billy’s sake. If Billy had any indication that Steve hadn’t _actually_ dropped the subject of Saturday night, then Steve knew that Billy would find every way in the world to avoid him, which was counter-productive to everything Steve was trying to do.

He listened to his sleep machine pour out those fake ocean waves, and almost felt kind of embarrassed for using them as some kind of placeholder for Billy, but he was too used to them now to change the setting. Instead, he let the rise and fall of the tides coming through the speaker determine the ups and downs of his thoughts for the night.

~

Thursday morning when Steve pulled into the parking lot, he saw the Camaro parked where it usually was. Without a second thought, he swerved in to make sure he got the spot right next to Billy’s car. When he finished parking and got out, he saw that Billy was still sat in his front seat smoking a cigarette. He knocked on the window, and Billy glanced his way before giving him a nod.

He moved out of the way so Billy could get out, and when he did a cloud of smoke came with him. Steve waved it away, coughing from all the nicotine, but stayed where he was standing. In between their cars he was aware of how close their bodies were, and it almost made him squirm out of the way. He stood his ground, though, because there was no way he was gonna let Billy out of his sight now.

Billy looked miles better than he did Saturday night, and even Sunday morning. The bruising wasn’t as dark and frightening on his face, and he hadn’t winced too much coming out of his car. He still had the two splints on his fingers, but the splints weren’t as clunky as the ones before had been so Steve assumed that he had at least seen _some_ sort of medical professional.

Steve was practically brimming with questions, but he knew anything too intense too soon would scare Billy off for sure. And Billy seemed to be looking at him just as closely as he probably was, like he was searching for something on Steve’s face. Briefly, he had the horrifying thought that maybe Max _did_ say something to Billy, until Billy clapped him on the shoulder.

“Harrington, miss me? Hope you weren’t shooting hoops by yourself after school.”

Steve sputtered for a second, mind retreating back to yesterday afternoon when he had been dribbling the ball and moping like a baby. Billy saw his expression, and his face morphed to positive _glee_.

“No, dude, _please_ don’t tell me you did. C’mon, that’s gonna break my heart.”

He shouldered past a now, honest-to-God _cackling_ Billy, and tried to will his embarrassed flush away. “Yeah, yeah, yuck it up. We’ll see who’s laughing next time on the court.”

Not that he’d actually have anything to show for it. But it was better than having Billy think he was just… _sulking_ by himself. Even though he had been. It kind of stung, though, the way Billy was deliberately playing it like _nothing at all was wrong_ when Steve literally had to get help for him a couple nights ago.

Billy took a couple of long strides to catch up with him. He slowed down, even though his feelings were hurt, because he didn’t want Billy to strain himself. Billy shot him a grateful look when he waited for him to fully catch up.

“Listen, you wanna skip tutoring today? Go do something or whatever?” Billy was staring directly in his eyes.

Steve looked him over. Billy didn’t seem like he was in a bad mood, or even tense at all. Instead, he looked the loosest he had in a while. He didn’t know how it was possible for Billy to look so at ease, considering the state he was in, but Steve wasn’t about to mess up whatever good vibe Billy had going on by bringing up the odd behavior. Besides, having Billy’s full attention on him _plus_ the prospect of hanging out after school were both too overwhelming for him to read into now.

“Alright, that sounds good,” He agreed, trying for casual. Billy saw right through him, though, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk. He didn’t say anything else, just resumed walking with Steve to the entrance, but there was almost a bounce in his step that Steve had a hard time ignoring.

Billy shocked all of them when he came to sit at their table in the courtyard instead of doing his usual lunch of cigarettes in his car. Steve was the first to recover from his shock, scooting down a little so Billy wasn’t so pressed up against him on the seat. Billy moved with him, though, and they still ended up a hair away from each other, something that had Steve inwardly hyperventilating over.

Nancy’s eyes about boggled out of her head, and when she looked at Steve for some kind of solidarity, she lapsed into further confusion when Steve just pretended that it was completely normal. Jonathon at least concealed his surprise the best out of all of them, just a quick widening of his eyes before he timidly returned Billy’s nod and, “S’up Byers?”

Lunch was a little strained, but Billy seemed to be in high spirits no matter _how_ disapproving Nancy looked at him from across the table, and Jonathon was able to play along and start up tentative conversation. Steve had a hard time shaking the grin that kept threatening to overtake his face, tickled by how strangely _happy_ Billy was acting.

They walked together to their math class and Steve had never felt so alive than in that five minutes, walking next to Billy against the crowd of people going opposite directions. They hardly said a word, but the air between them was lighter than it had been in a while. Billy doodled drawings on the side of his classwork that nearly had Steve go faint from fighting laughter, and when they parted and Billy told him he would meet him at Steve’s house he felt like he was on cloud nine.

Billy’s happy mood was due to the fact that it was nearly Spring Break, apparently. At Steve’s puzzled look, he rolled his eyes so hard Steve thought he’d get a headache.

“Um, hello? A week of freedom? Drink all day, party all night?”

“Um, hello,” Steve crowed back, “Do you really think there’s parties every night in Hawkins?”

“Whatever. It will be for me. Whole house to myself until Wednesday.”

“Oh really?” That was news. From what he could tell, Billy had a normal home life; one where his dad or stepmom didn’t leave him alone for an allotted maybe nine months out of the year. “You gonna be throwing the parties then?”

Billy looked at him like he was insane. “Hell no. No way I’m letting a bunch of drunk idiot’s mess around with walls covered in Susan’s _valuables_. I’d be six feet under.”

They were playing a pitiful game of kick the can. When they had gotten back to Steve’s, Billy had been filled with a restless energy that had no hopes of being fought off. He tried to cajole Steve into passing a football, but Steve was adamant that Billy not do anything to strain his ribs. So, here they were, kicking a can in Steve’s backyard because Steve _really_ couldn’t refuse a lot to Billy.

“What about you? Your parents gonna take you on a fancy trip or somethin’?” Billy lobbed the can his way, all while keeping his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets.

Steve barked out a dry laugh. “Ha. Yeah right. More like _they’re_ taking a trip and leaving me here to play house.”

It was silent. Steve felt his face flush, feeling stupid for saying anything in the first place. He should’ve just said no like a normal person.

Billy toed the beat up can under his sneakers. Steve hoped he would have the same courtesy for Steve when it came to his problems. “Well, we should hang. The rest of my stash isn’t gonna smoke itself.” He finally said after a couple beats of silence.

Steve brightened up at that. “Oh yeah? Count me in, man, you know I can’t resist.”

Billy just gave a rueful grin and geared up to give the can a good kick. It sailed past Steve’s feet, but he couldn’t be even be mad about it, especially when Billy looked so happy yelling, “And Hargrove scores a screamer!”

~

It was the best Spring Break Steve had had in years. Probably forever, if he was being honest; and that counted the year his parents actually _did_ take him on their trip to New York for Spring Break.

Billy’s dad, stepmom, and Max had all left Friday afternoon, kickstarting the break with a positive mood that Billy carried well into the weekend. They didn’t do anything different than what they usually did hanging out, the only difference was now they had all the time in the world to laze throughout the day in between their adventures. For the first time in forever he had gotten the heated pool started, after Billy begged and begged him one of the afternoons.

He thought he’d feel too freaked to get in, and when he first took off the pool cover, he definitely got the chills, but seeing Billy swan dive into the pool _jeans and all_ had quickly put him at ease. And when Billy finally popped his head above the surface and spat water at him, there was little else Steve could do but roll his eyes and jump in afterwards. They ended up using the pool in the days after, Billy always taking the first leap in and never questioning why it always took Steve a minute or so longer to jump in after him.

The pool was both the best and worst thing. Best, because after that first dip Billy started actually bringing his swimming trunks, which meant that he wore nothing _but_ his swim trunks, something that was very distracting to Steve. Worst, because Steve suddenly realized how much he _stared_ at Billy.

What was distracting at first were the bruises that still mottled Billy’s chest, and they always stood out even more harshly whenever Billy would first get out of the pool and his skin would be almost as pale as Steve’s. He always insisted on putting some saran wrap over the splints, so they wouldn’t get wet, and would end up having to force Billy to give him his hand every time just so he could try to maneuver the plastic wrapping around his fingers. He ended up feeling like a grade-A weirdo every time he did it, but Billy never complained, and was actually pretty cooperative once Steve would get ahold of him.

Once he got over that initial shock, though, he had a hard time concentrating on anything _but_ Billy’s body. It wasn’t just the fact that Billy was _seriously_ fit (although that definitely didn’t hurt), it was the way that Billy moved with _confidence_ that really had Steve’s mind reeling. It was like every move was measured and chosen carefully, nothing like Steve’s own flailing limbs and general clumsiness.

Not only that, but there’s a certain way Billy holds himself when he feels like he doesn’t have anything to prove. He’s more carefree, roughhouses a little bit more, cracks more jokes than he normally does. All in all, it’s the most fun Steve’s had in a while. And then of course it has to come crashing down. It only makes sense.

Here’s how it goes: Tuesday night, after a day of major swimming and the general horseplay two teenage guys engage in, they smoke a joint in Steve’s room. Billy’s jaw had dropped when Steve said it was okay, and it had taken smoking the entire first joint to make him finally relax and stop instinctually glancing over his shoulder at every errant sound in Steve’s house. His paranoia had been contagious, and seeing Billy continually nervous had been making Steve secondhand nervous as well.

Once they had the second joint going, Billy had started to loosen up. They had been smoking their way through the rest of his stash pretty generously, but every so often they mixed it in with Steve’s subpar Hawkins weed to make it last longer. He loved the attention and praise he got every time he rolled for Billy and thought once or twice about thanking Tommy for being his guineapig so he and Billy could reap the rewards. When he twisted the tip of the joint off and handed it to Billy for inspection, nothing could stop the butterflies in his stomach when Billy smiled at him like that.

Billy started it, while Steve stood up and went to flip the tape over in the stereo. It was his own mix, and the ribbing Billy delivered over it was more good-natured than actually disgusted. He was in the most agreeable mood he had been in the past couple of days, and with his face and body bruises fading away it was almost like his inner mood was changing his exterior. Steve shook his head, clearing his thoughts. God, the weed had a way of burying him and a lot of times made him notice so much more about Billy than he should have.

The room had been hazy looking, filled mostly with the fog of pot smoke. Steve had cracked open a window for ventilation, but they were so high they kept forgetting to blow it out there and instead blew smoke all over the place. His eyes felt heavy and hot, and his brain had reached that almost-molasses stage that he appreciated every time he slept like a log after smoking. Billy wasn’t much better off; his eyes were even more heavy lidded than usual and the contrast between the glassy red and blue of his eyes made Steve quickly overwhelmed with how many times he caught himself accidentally staring.

Billy was still sat Indian style, body language loose as he used one hand to prop himself up and one had to hold the joint. Once Steve got the right tape going, he went back down to the floor where Billy was currently hogging the weed.

“C’mon man, I gave it to you to _start_ , not _finish_.” Steve said, wiggling his fingers for it.

Billy just brazenly laughed and handed it over, oblivious to what the sound of his laughter did to Steve’s gut. “Had to check for poison, pretty boy,”

Steve went bright red at the nickname and tried to distract himself by taking a long pull. It was still damp for where Billy had just put his mouth, and when Steve wrapped his lips around it, he acutely tried not to think about how he could qualify it as a secondhand kiss. He went even _more_ red at that thought and tried to will it away so Billy wouldn’t think he was overheated or something. He was already a lightweight when it came to smoking with Billy.

The next song came on and Billy stiffened at the beginning synth beats. “Hall and Oates?” He ground out like it was painful.

Steve narrowed his eyes, “Billy, you can’t honestly say you hate _every_ song on my—”

“No,” Billy said forcefully. “No… I like it. Them.”

He handed the joint back to Billy, watching how he suddenly took the hits like his life depended on it. Sometimes Billy reminded him of those little wooden string dolls; where you press the button at the bottom and they fall apart, but then the second you release it they’re back up and stiff like they never lost shape in the first place. Billy was obviously distressed right now, and it happened so quickly that Steve had to push past the slowness in his brain to actually talk to him.

“You kinda don’t seem like you like them,” He told Billy, “I can change the song if you want?” He didn’t know how _You Make My Dreams_ could put someone from such a high to a rocky low.

But Billy shook his head. “Nah, it’s not that.” He took an extra-long drag from the joint.

Steve watched him, not moving to change the song on the stereo. This was one of those times where normally he would feel confident in asking what was wrong, but with Billy he could never be sure if that was a _good_ move or a risky one. The weed had him feeling looser, and less connected to reality, though, and there was a false kind of bravery that Steve decided to try to tap into.

“So, what is it then?” He passed the joint back after taking another rip.

Billy’s eyes flicked up to him as he took the joint back, like he was testing the waters. He gave a shrug that was too casual to be genuine, and said in an even _more_ unaffected voice, “My mom really liked them.”

“Oh yeah?” It was the first Steve had ever heard of Billy’s mom, and it felt like he had to grab this moment before it slipped through his hands, “I think my parents like them too. My mom’s a big music snob.”

Billy smiled. “Yeah. So was my mom. She liked ‘em before, and then they released that song _Sara Smile_ , and she was so happy to have a song with her name in it.”

“Her name’s Sara?”

“Yeah, just with an H. She said it didn’t matter, ‘cause her name was in the song anyway. She always turned it up when it played on the radio.” He was looking off into the distance, like he could see the memory right there in Steve’s room.

He sent a furtive glance his way, and Steve smiled encouragingly. It made Billy relax a little, when he realized that Steve wasn’t gonna rush him or bombard him with his usual lack of brain-to-mouth filter. Billy took another deep hit, closing his eyes in the process.

When he opened them again, they were hazier than before. Steve wondered whether that was the weed or the subject. Billy startled him by talking again, unprompted. “Her and my dad used to slow dance to it in the kitchen, trade off the first and second verse, and I’d run circles around ‘em just to be included.”

It looked painful getting those words out. Billy wasn’t looking at a corner in the room anymore, instead just hanging his head to look at his crossed ankles. He picked at a loose string in the carpet.

Steve tracked the movement with his eyes, wondering what could be the right thing to say. It was a titular moment, one that he could ruin if he said the wrong thing. Of course, he did, anyway, even though he tried hard not to.

“Where is she now?”

Billy shrugged and stopped picking at the carpet. “Who the fuck knows. She ran off when I was ten.”

The mood in the room was dark. Steve didn’t know what he had been expecting, seeing as Susan was Billy’s stepmother and his real mother had never been mentioned up to this point, but it wasn’t that. “You know why?” he couldn’t help but ask.

This time when Billy took a hit, it was a long one that ended the rest of the cherrying paper. He exhaled a huge plume of smoke, and before Steve could fully blink it out of his eyes, Billy was already starting to roll another joint. His fingers were trembling. Steve gently took the paper and grinder from him, surprised when Billy let the items go from his grasp without any fight. Where their fingers had touched there had been only warmth, and Steve thanked whatever God that was out there that Billy was probably too high to notice his constant blush.

While Steve was rolling, Billy answered his question. “My dad. She couldn’t stand him after a while. I don’t blame her.”

Steve snuck a glance up at Billy, noting the hard tone in his voice. Billy still wasn’t looking at him though, just back to staring at a random corner of the room. This time his face had lost that easygoing expression, and in place was a heavy furrow in his brow.

“You and your dad don’t get along?” He asked, trying to get a good mental picture. He didn’t know much about Billy’s dad, but from the tiny bit Max had divulged about him in the car it didn’t seem like there was a lot of love lost between him and Billy. Which, knowing Billy, made sense seeing as he had an issue with about every authority figure Steve had seen him come into contact with.

The most confusing part, though, was why Billy’s mom would just up and _leave_ , especially without _him._ Steve knew his parent’s marriage wasn’t perfect by any means, but there was no level of animosity between them that ever had his mom contemplating just dumping everything and _leaving_. And if she did, Steve knew there would have been probably a long-winded custody battle to see who he would live with.

He handed the new joint back to Billy, a little wary for them to still keep smoking after they had done it pretty much all day, but it seemed like the only way to get Billy to open up.

Billy started it off again, doing his usual routine of taking about three hits too many in the process. Steve let him have it though, under the expectation that Billy would be more cooperative if he was high.

And he was. “Yeah, we don’t really get along.” Like he wasn’t even thinking about it, Billy lightly scratched one of his splints with his thumb. When he caught Steve’s eyes tracking the movement, he shook himself out of it and passed the joint.

Steve took it, taking a long hit to rival Billy’s as he thought of what to say next. Billy beat him to the punch with his own question, though.

“What about you?” He nodded at Steve’s bedroom door. “I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen your parents here.”

He gave a low laugh, once again letting the weed loosen up his tongue more than he usually would. “Yeah. Probably not. They’re always gone, so.”

Billy raised his eyebrows. “Gee. Don’t sound so happy about it. I’d kill to have no parental supervision, no one always looking over your shoulder to make sure you’re being _responsible_.” He spat the last word out like it was a curse.

Steve shrugged. He hated explaining it, overly aware that he sounded like the average rich-kid complaining about problems that no one ever had. “Yeah, it just kind of gets lonely when it’s constantly me just alone up here.”

“Why are they always gone?”

“Work, trips, couples’ retreats, whatever excuse buys them a couple more months away.”

It surprised him how bitter he sounded saying that. He always knew that he resented them for leaving him up to his own devices all the time, but it wasn’t something he usually shared with the rest of the class.

Billy just smoked, staring at him. Steve felt like fidgeting but knew that would be a dead giveaway. He finally passed the joint back over, and Steve took barely a puff of it before he was exhaling. He felt like he needed to take a break from the hits, because all the smoke was getting to his head and making him say colossally dumb things.

He figured Billy would diffuse the tension by cracking something wise, probably about him being spoiled and ungrateful, but Billy surprised him instead by asking, “Is that why you have trouble sleeping? ‘Cause they’re never here?”

Steve blinked, taken aback. He’d never thought Billy had noticed. “How do you know I have trouble sleeping?”

Billy gave him a flat look. “Man, the bags under your eyes are purple on a good day.”

He almost felt them self-consciously, but at the last minute let his hand fall back down. Billy was waiting for him to answer his first question. “No. Well, I guess it doesn’t really _help_ , but it’s not the main reason why.”

Once he said it out loud, he realized how true it really was. Yeah, the Upside Down was the main cause of his insomnia, but for years he had been operating under the false kind of bravado that came with having to be alone for most of the year. The truth was: it did bother him that he was always alone. Always having to be self-reliant. The neat, wonder stage had kinda been left after the second trip where his parents were gone for over a month. Like suddenly realizing it wasn’t as fun anymore, but there was nothing he could do about it now. And _sure_ , he was supposed to be able to fend for himself, being a senior in high school, but he’d never really gotten the chance to _not_ be fending for himself at any moment. Sometimes the idea of having helicopter parents was too good to not fantasize about.

“So why then?”

Billy tore him out of his stupor. Steve could only confusedly ask, “What?”

He was met with another flat stare, this one meaning that he needed to get his head back in the conversation. “Why you have trouble sleeping, _hello.”_

Steve winced, not really sure how to _say it_ without, you know, _saying it_. Sometimes he wished so intensely that he could tell Billy what happened that night, sometimes because he kind of felt like he owed him that, and other times because he just genuinely wanted to have Billy in on it. It wasn’t just his secret to tell, though, and without outright permission from the Party there was no way he could back out on that trust.

Not only that, but it wasn’t like this was exactly a common problem amongst people their age. Sure, most people had sleeping problems, but Steve should be on the opposite end of the spectrum; where like every teenage boy he would sleep in excess rather than the spare hours he had been catching whenever he finally succumbed.

Billy read his expression and rolled his eyes before lightly nudging the joint his way. “C’mon, it’s not like it super crazy,” he said, almost reading Steve’s mind, “I have trouble sleeping too.”

Which, that was probably as obvious as it was for Steve. That first day after the break, when Steve had first seen Billy in math class, that was one of the first things he’d noticed. The way that Billy also had those dark circles around his eyes, the way he was no longer the life of the room anymore, but rather just taking up space. There was a difference between being just plain tired and being exhausted. Steve knew both him and Billy fell into the latter category.

“Why do _you_ have trouble sleeping?”

Billy narrowed his eyes. “Nuh uh. You first.”

He dithered for a moment, running a hand through his hair. “It’s… complicated.” At Billy’s disbelieving look, he rushed to continue, “No, seriously. It is. I guess the easy version would be… paranoia? I guess.” Mulling over getting hunted and brutally torn apart by mythical creatures definitely inspired a fair degree of paranoia.

“How?” He couldn’t even blame Billy for asking.

“I dunno,” he tried to search for something to give Billy that would be substantial enough, while also staying between the lines of his boundaries, “Just listening to everything go bump in the night.”

He finally took another hit and passed it to Billy, who seemed to be deeply evaluating what Steve was saying. He thought he’d see an air of suspicion, or some kind of weirded out expression, but instead it just seemed like Billy was lost in thought trying to sift through Steve’s meaning. He didn’t know which one he would have preferred.

“So then what about you?” Steve found himself asking, eager to switch the hot seat, “What keeps _you_ up?”

Billy gave a dark chuckle and took a long hit. Finally, he blew a large cloud of smoke out before turning back to Steve. “Also listening to things go bump in the night.”

Steve, who felt like Billy had mocked him for laying everything out, was offended. Usually, Billy was better at the game than this. “Never mind, man, I— “

“No. I-I’m not joking.” Billy looked earnest in his refusal, which at least loosened Steve back up a little bit, “I just meant it in a different way.”

“What way?”

“Well, what way were _you_ talking about?”

Another question answered with a question. So typical for Billy, Steve wondered why he even tried anymore. He told him so. “God, Billy, it’s like I’m pulling your teeth out with rusty pliers.”

Billy did that weird facial expression again, the cowed one that sat so wrongly on his face. Once again, Steve had felt like he’d made a misstep in the conversation and was quick to try to reverse what he’d just said. “Hey, I didn’t mean—”

“Nah. It’s okay,” Billy shook his head, his blond curls falling in place in front of his eyes. Steve felt suddenly exposed with his own hair all pushed back and his face out on complete display.

“You’re right. It’s just… hard for me to, ‘ya know. Talk sometimes.” Billy was staring off into that middle distance again, unreachable wherever his mind was. “Not _just_ talk, I mean. But to actually say what’s goin’ on. I mean,” he shook his head balefully, another gesture that didn’t suit him right at all, “I know I’m a shitty friend.”

Steve’s glare counteracted what he said next. “You’re not a shitty friend. Trust me, I’ve had shitty friends.”

Billy still didn’t look convinced. Steve wasn’t finished, though, “Yeah, okay, it’s kind of hard to get stuff out of you sometimes, but I know it’s because you can’t… like. Help it.”

“Shouldn’t that tell you something?” Billy asked drily, “Like, shouldn’t that be a clue that I’m probably a shitty friend to have?”

“No! Just means…” He tried to search for an explanation that didn’t sound like it’d come from the seat of his pants. When that didn’t work, he switched gears, “Listen, I have stuff I can’t talk about either. Doesn’t mean that I’m a shitty friend.”

He watched Billy’s face closely, looking for any signs of disagreement or maybe surprise on Billy’s own expression at Steve’s confident assertion that he was a good friend. A good friend of _Billy’s_. There was no protest, and Steve felt a little triumphant over at least achieving _that_.

Steve tried to switch the gears of the conversation a little bit, too discomfited by how it was starting to lean towards his _own_ secrets; he didn’t doubt that Billy had issues, but he was sure they weren’t Upside Down level, or even having a major crush on your bully turned best friend level. When he was like this there was no telling what his big mouth what let loose, and he didn’t want to disrupt the easy peace they had maintained since Billy came back to school pretending that nothing was wrong at all.

He took the shortening joint and stubbed out the rest into the ashtray, aware now that any weed they smoked was a waste since they both were already majorly stoned. Billy was usually able to hide it well, but his eyes were always a dead giveaway. Right now, they were lidded and glassy and made Steve have those butterflies again in his stomach, so he tried to avoid looking at him head on.

It was fruitless to try to avoid him, because Billy commanded Steve’s full attention with what he asked next. “Why _are_ you friends with me anyway, Harrington?”

“Is your sunny disposition not enough?”

Billy slugged him in the shoulder. “Wrong answer. _You_ don’t even have a sunny disposition.”

“Okay, okay,” he laughed, summoning up the courage to go through with this, “You’re not so bad when you’re not doing your whole ‘Steve bad, must punch’ bit, plus you’re funnier than Tommy ever was.”

“Pssh.” Billy waved a hand. “As if that’s hard.”

“No, but,” Steve was unable to stop himself, like the floodgates were open the second there was an available space for him to compliment Billy without getting in trouble, “I mean, you could’ve been a dick to me over the tutoring stuff, but you weren’t.”

He paused, feeling a little shy now. For a second, Billy looked so _hungry_ , like he was devouring every word. The look was gone in a second, though, and Steve could only swallow. He tried to rearrange his brain, tried to get it back with the program instead of focusing on Billy’s face. It was hard, though, when Billy was so close and was watching Steve’s own face with an uninterrupted stare.

Steve took the plunge. It was doomed to happen anyway, with the expectant expression Billy wore on his face while staring him down. “You’re a good person, Billy. I know you may not think that, but I do.”

Billy looked away. It was only a shift of the eyes, but Steve could feel the distance Billy was trying to put between them. “A good person wouldn’t do what I do.”

“I know you apologized to Lucas,” he blurted, unable to keep it to himself when Billy looked so self-deprecating, “And you apologized to me, too. I know you’ve been getting along better with Max lately. Just ‘cause you still fight sometimes doesn’t mean you’re a bad person.”

All Billy did was fold his hands over his eyes. Steve was pretty sure he’d never seen him do that gesture and was so unsettled by it he rushed to try to remedy the situation as best as he could. “I wasn’t-I didn’t mean to—”

“No, it’s okay.” Billy said, still behind his fingers, taking in deep breaths. “I know what you mean.”

He finally looked up, and his face showed next to nothing, except for some lingering puffiness. His eyes were still red and glassy, and Steve wondered how much of it was actually the weed and how much of it was because Billy was upset.

Steve was still worried, though, and knew it was written all over his face. Billy huffed out another breath and did a show of rolling his eyes. It was supposed to mollify him, but instead it just made Steve all the more aware of how easy it was for Billy to just brush his problems away. Steve could recognize it because he was guilty of also doing the same. It was just weird watching from the outside, knowing that Billy seemed to be so well versed in it. It was one of those things that he figured was a piece of the puzzle that was unraveling Billy Hargrove, but Steve had no clue where it sat. What it meant.

“Calm down, Steve,” Billy said, unaware of how the switch to Steve’s first name gave him a head rush, just like it did every other time, “The weed’s making me moody. And tired.”

“You could spend the night,” Steve offered without thinking of how eager it made him sound.

Billy paused, looking unsure. “They come back tomorrow. I gotta make sure the house is clean before he comes in.”

“Well, you don’t have to stay all day,” Steve said, even though that’s exactly what he wanted him to do, “You could just dip in the morning. I’m sure they won’t be back before 10 a.m., right?”

“Yeah, I guess so. If you really don’t care.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I did.” Steve said, trying to go for a casual tone, as if he wasn’t overthinking every word that came out of his mouth. “Besides, I don’t think even _you_ would be able to drive with how much we smoked. I’m not trying to see your Camaro wrapped around some tree on the morning news.”

Billy rolled his eyes again, and finally stood up from his position on the floor. He gave a big stretch, one that was good enough to produce a couple of cracks, and Steve nearly choked at the sight of Billy’s dark blonde happy trail underneath his navel. Steve averted his eyes so he wouldn’t be caught staring.

He put the ashtray with the old joints still in it on his desk. He stretched his own limbs, pulling his hands over his head as he waited for his own satisfying _pop_. When he finally got it, he lowered his arms and shifted back to face Billy. When he was fully turned, he barely caught sight of Billy’s red face and him turning away, like he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar. There was a weird energy in the air that Steve didn’t feel like naming, afraid that it would make everything turn awkward. He occupied himself with setting up the bed, hyperaware of every movement and breath.

When he got a couple of extra blankets and threw them on the bed, he heard Billy make a choking noise behind him.

“You wanna share a bed?”

His face went hot. “Oh-I mean, I know you’ve slept on the couch the other times, but I figured that was uncomfortable.” The argument sounded weak to even his own ears. Was it so obviously written on his face as well that he wanted to sleep next to Billy? He searched for an out on his embarrassing offer, “I can just move to the—”

“No, it’s okay.” Billy cut him off. His own face was flushed, and Steve wondered if he had felt the sudden overwhelming heat in the room, too. “We can share.”

“Oh, okay, cool.” Steve’s voice had taken a higher pitch he didn’t recognize. “Okay, I’ll just…” he let himself trail off, deciding to pretend to keep getting the bed ready before he made an even bigger fool of himself.

Billy didn’t ask for any pajamas, and Steve worried he would have a stroke if he saw Billy changing into one of his own sweatpants. Instead, Steve made a show of picking up the last of his room, hoping that would be a natural enough opening for Billy to crawl into bed. Steve’s bed. Which was about to have Billy in it. The thought was dizzying. His brain felt like it was going to short out at any moment.

He skipped out on turning on his sleep machine. It was partly because he was still pretty stoned and knew it wouldn’t be that difficult to fall asleep that night. However, the main reason was because he felt… _embarrassed_ , for lack of better word. Billy had talked so much about swimming, about the ocean tides crashing, and a part of Steve was afraid he would get caught out on his massive crush if Billy found out he listened to his own fake ocean every night. Realistically, he knew Billy probably wouldn’t think twice of it or even care, but the possibility was enough to have Steve be extra cautious.

When he was done tidying up the place, or at least pretending to, he turned the light off and chose to stumble through the darkness to his bed. He could’ve turned on the bedside lamp for help, but he was afraid that seeing Billy just _lying in bed_ like he was _waiting for him_ would be too much. He slid down the covers and quilts with a racing heart and shaking fingers. The sheets beneath were cool, but they couldn’t disguise the fact of a warm body right next to him.

Steve laid completely still on his back at first. He was trying his hardest to keep his breathing normal, and not erratic like his pulse. He was stiff as a board, all too aware of Billy just inches away. If Steve were to reach out his hand just a little bit, he’d be touching Billy’s arm. The insane urge to make a move was so disarming that it took nearly all of his self-control not to roll over and do just that.

Billy’s own breaths sounded even, and Steve wondered if he was having just as hard of a time or if he was actually asleep. In the pitch black of the room, Billy felt both nearer and farther than he had ever been.

He desperately wanted to say something: a comment on the obvious palpable tension between them, a question about last Saturday night, or maybe even the insanity of telling Billy something secret, like the Upside Down. The air felt so charged and electric, he almost felt certain Billy would be truthful. But every prospect just made his head thrum, and it all came down to his irrational fear of Billy somehow cluing in and finding out about his crush.

After a couple minutes of deep breathing, he was finally able to calm down and actually feel drowsy. Closing his eyes felt good, soothed the heat that had been burning behind them from the weed. Even though he had felt on edge at first, Billy’s presence next to him somehow soothed him, like the safe point of a lighthouse in the eye of a storm. It wasn’t long until he drifted off.

That’s where it went all wrong. His easy peace and slumber didn’t last long, and before he knew it, it felt like he was suffocating in the dream, breathing in the poisoned air of those tunnels, with only the sound of his thundering pulse in his ears. His limbs felt like lead, slow and too heavy to move as he tried to escape the demodogs he could see at the end of the long hall of darkness. He furiously fought over and over again to just _move_ , hearing the kids behind him urgently chant his name _again_ and _again_.

When Steve finally woke up, the blankets were kicked onto the ground, and he had sweated through almost his entire shirt. His throat felt scratchy, like he had been screaming for a bit, and his heart felt like it was about to painfully burst out of his chest. His head was spinning, and he was distantly made aware of the fact that Billy was tightly holding his arm and had probably been the one who was saying Steve’s name. For a couple of minutes, he felt like he was underwater, everything seeming muffled, and he was trying to break the surface but unable to. Billy’s grounding hand on his arm made Steve feel real again, and he went from being lost in his nightmare to gradually becoming aware of each of Billy’s fingers coiled tightly around his bicep.

He tried to say something, maybe a fruitless _I’m sorry_ for presumably waking Billy up _screaming_ , but all he could get out was a measly croak. He felt Billy’s other hand tentatively land on his back before he started rubbing it; smooth circles that helped him get rid of the last tendrils of fear.

“Shhh, you’re okay, it’s okay,” Billy’s voice sounded softer than it ever had, and Steve desolately mourned that he had offered for them to share the bed in the first place. What was he thinking? He was lucky Billy was being so kind. He couldn’t hear any anger or judgement in Billy’s tone, only that unfamiliar softness.

The hand smoothly rubbing his back was the last shred holding his terror, and after a couple minutes he was able to get in some breaths without feeling like he was going to hyperventilate. Billy’s grip on his arm had lessened but was still firm enough to keep Steve grounded to reality. The other hand stayed rubbing his back until it wasn’t heaving anymore, and Steve was starting to gain awareness of his surroundings. Namely, Billy in bed next to him, comforting him for the past ten minutes or so as he got over the shakes in the aftermath of his dream.

He cleared his throat, feeling like this time it would work. “Fuck, I’m so sorry,” he ground out, hating the way his voice cracked toward the end.

Coming down from the adrenaline rush his nightmare had given him made him feel wretched, deeply ashamed that the _one_ night he slept next to Billy he had to go and ruin it by having a crazy episode. He buried his face in his hands, unable to even stomach the thought of looking in Billy’s direction. Seeing his face would make the whole thing more real; it was easy to discount his intense night terrors when there was no one else around to witness his screaming and thrashing. Steve wasn’t sure what his parents would even _do_ if they heard him screaming bloody murder in the middle of the night. A quick glance to the digital clock on his nightstand said that the time was 3:32 a.m. It had been just past midnight when they had gone to bed, so it was no surprise to find out he had slept his usual three hours, before doing his usual wake up routine of leftover panic and residual terror.

He was still shaking a little, and with his face in his hands he could feel the tremors still going through him. That combined with the overall memory of the shitty nightmare, and Billy’s continued rubbing of his back like nothing was wrong, and before he knew it Steve could feel warm tears in the palm of his hand.

“Hey, Steve, it’s _okay_ , you’re alright,” Billy’s voice barely cut through his own self-flagellation, and Steve hadn’t even noticed his shoulders were shaking until Billy had both hands wrapped around them, rubbing his thumbs over the knobby bones. The acknowledgment of his freak out was enough to have him almost go down another tailspin, but Billy seemed to sense it and just held on tighter.

He tried saying something else to Billy but knew he would probably only be able to blubber it out, and quit after a few shaky breaths. He kept his face still hidden, though, afraid that if he looked it would break the moment. The fact was, it felt good to have another person there to keep him tethered to his body rather than intrusive thoughts, and even though he was deeply humiliated that Billy had to be disturbed in the process, he was still grateful of his presence. The weight and pressure of Billy’s hands on his shoulders made him feel like he was back in the real world again, not trapped in those seemingly endless tunnels.

One hand gently pried one of Steve’s own away from his face. He fought it a bit at first, but after a couple of seconds of gentle tugging, he finally gave in and removed it. He still didn’t say anything and didn’t look Billy’s way at all.

Billy leaned forward until he was in Steve’s eyeline. The room was still thankfully dark, but there was enough of the light from the window to make Billy’s face seen. The darkness helped take away from some of the intensity, but Steve still gave an involuntary shudder at the fervent look in his eye. Their hands stayed clasped, and Steve was almost shocked at how warm Billy’s was in comparison. Under normal circumstances he’d probably already be flaming red from the gesture, but he could only feel tender relief at finally having someone there to comfort him.

He wanted to say something else, not that he really had any clue where to start, but he wanted to at least explain _something_. Billy tugged him back to a laying position with both hands before he could start to think. Steve went with it easily, too overtaken with the sensation of Billy honest-to-God tucking him in, adjusting the pillows by his head and all, before putting a steadying hand on his chest.

“You’re good, Steve, just go back to sleep,” Billy’s voice was like warm velvet.

In the darkness it was easy to agree, easy to let his eyes slip shut when he felt the warm weight of Billy’s hand holding him there. Not pressing down but keeping him secure. It was only a couple seconds later when he felt Billy slide back in right next to him, and the bare skin of their arms brushed as Billy got settled in. This time, when they were both lying there, there were no inches between them. Instead, Steve was affected by the _zing_ of Billy’s warm skin against his own.

Billy kept his own breathing measured, and Steve found himself unconsciously mirroring the breathing pattern. Within moments he was falling back asleep, impossibly, but what seemed more far-fetched was the sensation right before he dropped off; the light touch of one of Billy’s fingers against his own.

~

Billy being gone before he woke up usually wouldn’t make him go into a panic attack but considering the fact that the night before he had had to _hold_ and _comfort_ Steve after a nightmare, he figured he probably had a little bit of a right to be scared.

Last night was like a dream within itself, and when Steve woke up, he was momentarily confused. For a second he had completely forgot Billy had spent the night, until he glanced at the burnt joints in the ashtray. Then, everything came flooding back to him, piece by excruciating piece. Not only had Steve embarrassed himself _before_ the nightmare by idiotically suggesting they share the same bed, but then he had to go and ruin _that_ by having another garden-variety nightmare. He couldn’t imagine what Billy thought, sleeping one moment and then being woken up by someone screaming like a banshee right next to you.

And then Billy had literally _held_ him, rubbing his back like Steve was back in the third grade. He might as well have been, with the way he was acting last night. Crying in front of Billy? In _what_ world was that okay? Steve had never even cried in front of _Nancy_ , and there were plenty opportunities to do so.

No wonder Billy had pulled his usual disappearing act in the morning. Steve didn’t blame him. _God_ , how could he be so pathetic? There he was, hours before, trying to come up with an excuse for not being able to sleep, playing it off like it was just something normal. Only to prove himself wrong by having a colossal fuck up of an episode. Billy probably thought he was a certified nutcase now.

The intimate memory of the way Billy’s hands had felt on him afterwards had Steve shivering in place, remembering the steadying feeling that made his head spin at the same time. Steve had slept an additional four hours, like he was feeling that phantom hand holding his chest down steady. The hazy recollection of whether or not their fingers had really touched as Steve had finally drifted off. It made his cheeks go pink, and he wondered if he had succeeded in not only thoroughly embarrassing himself last night, but also exposing a deep part of his secret heart.

Wednesday felt like a blur compared to every day previous, where he and Billy had spent most of the hours together just hanging out and being carefree. The entire morning was spent in a nauseated daze, wondering how he could fuck up something so quickly while also ruminating on how _much_ he had possibly fucked it all up. He knew Billy’s family came back today, so abjectly he knew that Billy would be otherwise occupied, but when it became nightfall and he hadn’t heard a single thing his anxiety kicked into overdrive.

Dustin ended up calling later that night, and they went out to eat at Sally’s where Steve pretended like his mind wasn’t on the past 24 hours and nothing else, and when he dropped Dustin off at his house later on all he felt was restless. The deep sleep he had gotten after his nightmare made him uncomfortably awake longer than he was used to. He ended up cruising the streets later that night, wishing against it all that Billy would maybe be out and driving, but only ended up driving in circles by himself. He pulled through Billy’s neighborhood at one point, confident enough that in the darkness no one would be able to see his car. Billy’s Camaro was parked there, and Steve hadn’t really expected any different.

The next day was much of the same. Steve caught a fretful hour and a half of sleep before jerking awake with the usual thundering pulse, and he was too wired after that to attempt sleep again. He obsessively cleaned his room and the rest of the house, and when that was over with, he cleaned the pool. The phone never rang, there was no pebbles thrown against his window, and there never came that roaring of the Camaro’s engine down the street that Steve had gotten so used to.

It was like he was back at square one, radio silence between them while Steve was just supposed to sit there, helpless. Only, this time it was all because of him. He hated that all it took was Billy disappearing to make him turn into a crazy person again, but even as he thought it, he was unable to stop the way his mind kept working in overdrive trying to figure out what to do next.

The more he kept turning it over in his mind, the more he kept getting irritated. Yeah, okay, maybe he had been a total geek and embarrassed himself, but who was Billy to judge? After Steve had patched him up last Saturday night? He had called his elderly retired neighbor over so Billy could get an impromptu physical, for crying out loud, the least the other boy could do was ignore Steve’s own issues and give him the same courtesy. Ditching him for two days because of a nightmare? Was Steve stupid to think they were much better friends than they were? Answer was probably yes. It hurt so much to admit, but it was yes.

Thursday night had Steve feeling especially crazed, only getting about another two hours of sleep since Wednesday, and had him quick to doing something crazy, like stopping by Billy’s house and demanding to speak to him. He only just barely stopped himself, something at the back of his mind telling him that it wouldn’t be good to go through with. So, he settled for the next best: calling him.

After November, Steve had demanded each of the Party give him their home phone numbers, and parents work numbers, just in case. God knew he would probably be getting into further hi-jinks with the kids, and he always wanted to make sure he was never left high and dry again. Max had given him the home phone and her moms number, with strict instructions not to call if _absolutely necessary_ , Steve remembered it because it was a direct contrast to how Dustin had acted, telling Steve to call any time.

Steve put Max’s warning away at the back of his mind and dialed the number. It was only 7:15, and he knew that there would have to be _someone_ awake in the house, and if Billy wasn’t there at least he knew his message would be passed. Steve didn’t even know what his message would be, and it was only when he heard the phone start ringing on the other end that he realized he probably had to come up with something _good_.

It answered after two rings. “Hello?” asked a gruff voice. It sounded too deep to be Billy, so it must have been his dad.

“Hi there!” he tried to make his voice sound agreeable, the generic tone he took whenever his parents randomly dragged him to their fancy business dinners. “I was wondering if Billy was home?”

“He is, but we’re having dinner right now.”

Billy’s dad sounded nothing like Billy. Where Billy usually always had an easy tone to compliment his own smoky voice, his dad sounded completely the opposite with the tense way he spoke. There wasn’t an inch of wiggle room there, and even though he was miles away and over the phone, Steve still got the sensation that he was being heavily watched. “Oh, so…” he trailed off, unsure.

“So, he’s not available to talk. May I ask who’s calling?”

“Uh…” He stammered, not knowing why but feeling like giving his name up was the wrong move. “Just a buddy from math class. Was wondering if we had homework.”

“Over the break?”

Steve inwardly cursed. Usually, he was a little bit better than this, but Mr. Hargrove had him tripping over his words, feeling nervous for some reason. “Yeah, um, just trying to make sure. Don’t want my grade to drop or anything.” He forced a laugh. It sounded brittle and fake to even his own ears.

“You’d think someone who cared about their grades so much wouldn’t be waiting until Thursday night to verify homework, but maybe that’s just me.”

Steve’s heart raced. Fuck, this was such a bad idea. Billy’s dad sounded like a real hardass, and here Steve was, just fumbling his way through the conversation. He had to cut it short or else endure further humiliation.

“You know what, now that I think about it, we did have homework,” He blathered into the receiver, aware that his voice had gone to a nervous high pitch. “I’ll just go ahead and. Do that then.”

He hung up before Billy’s dad could say another word and was immediately grateful that he had followed his instinct of not giving a name. Not that he thought Billy’s dad would track him _down_ or anything, but he had certainly sounded way more hostile over the phone than he should have, considering it was just a casual phone call. His heart was still racing after he hung up. Steve couldn’t help but feel like that was exactly the _opposite_ of the smart thing to do, like he had made a colossal fuck up.

He justified it in his mind by reasoning that he wouldn’t have to resort to desperate measures if it weren’t for Billy dropping off the face of the Earth, but it still didn’t sit right in his mind. Part of him was worried that it might somehow affect Billy, his stupid phone call. It seemed like Billy and his dad butted heads about a lot of things, and Steve worried that he may have somehow given Mr. Hargrove even more ammunition.

He tried to imagine what kind of punishments Billy usually got with his dad. Steve’s dad was so detached there were basically no repercussions for him to ever think about, being grounded over the phone really lost its severity when the person doing the grounding couldn’t even _enforce_ it. Maybe Billy had already been grounded, and that was why he was staying away again. It seemed like Billy was always on the precipice of getting in trouble with his dad.

Max had said that they didn’t get along, in fact she had almost scoffed when Steve had first suggested she go to Mr. Hargrove to check in on Billy. The more Steve kept thinking about it the more he became convinced that he had made the complete wrong decision.

He hung the phone up into the socket on the wall roughly, not even caring when the curly wire got tangled underneath. He stomped upstairs and pretended that he wasn’t actually brooding and tried to occupy his time by moving all the furniture around in his room. That lasted about five seconds until he saw the ashtray and was reminded of a _different_ way to pass the time.

There were no more rolling papers left, and all he had was his own weed, but Steve was desperate enough to make it work. He dug the glass piece out of the shoebox under his bed and went to set about smoking the last of his weed. He resisted the strong urge to kick something, maybe throw something at the wall. All he’d have to show for it would be a mess to clean up, and he was sick of cleaning up messes.

The weed at least did the job of taking his mind off things, and before he knew it, he was sprawled on his bed, lighting the bowl and watching the ceiling fan lazily rotate above him. It was almost relaxing enough to fall asleep to, and he was just reaching over to put his pipe on the nightstand to hopefully speed up the process of getting his usual three hours of sleep, when the doorbell rang.

He looked to the clock. It was 10:30. The doorbell rang again, this time more forcefully. Steve got up, looked outside his window, and didn’t see anything. No other car in the driveway. The doorbell rang again.

Steve stumbled to get into action, mind coming up with a million possibilities of what it could be, picturing Dustin at the door holding another fucking _dead cat_ , maybe El with a bloody nose, for one hysterical moment he even pictured Mr. Hargrove there to finish their abruptly ended conversation. He snagged the nail bat just in case.

He rushed down the stairs, hearing the doorbell go off again and again as if the person was just jabbing the button over and over. He gripped the bat tightly in one hand, and hesitantly opened the door in the other.

It was Billy. The bat nearly dropped out of his hands. Billy didn’t give him much time to recover, choosing instead to shoulder past Steve while he stayed hunched in on himself. There was what looked like a fresh bruise over his eye, not on the same side as the one from last time.

“Jesus Harrington, let me through. I was freezing my ass off out there.” His teeth were chattering, even though he was wearing his ridiculous leather jacket. He saw Billy glance down at the bat, before doing a double take and widening his eyes comically. “What the fuck is that for? You get a lot of break ins?”

Steve, who was shocked at the sight of Billy after two days of seemingly being frozen out by him, could only open and close his mouth like a fish. He tossed the bat to the side, and they both flinched at the dual sound of wood and metal hitting the floor. He didn’t know what to say.

Billy looked like he didn’t either. They both just stared at each other in the foyer, both unwilling and unsure to make the first move. Steve was almost convinced this was a hallucination, but even Billy’s California weed wasn’t that strong. Plus, there’d be no way to hallucinate the _scent_ of Billy, the cologne that always seemed to trail after him no matter what. This close, Steve felt like it was fogging up the entryway.

“Uh,” is what he stupidly said after a moment. He shook his head immediately afterwards, trying to clear the cobwebs. He tried again. “What are you doing here?”

Billy just stood there, not saying anything. He scratched at his face a little, and Steve’s attention was drawn again to the new bruise blooming on his face. He wanted to ask about it but knew anything he said would just be a waste of breath. Billy was never forthcoming about those kinds of things.

“I called you,” he said, after a couple more minutes of silence.

“Yeah, I know.” Billy replied, still not looking at him. “You can’t do that.”

Steve narrowed his eyes, his hurt transforming to wrath at Billy’s placidity. “Okay, well sorry for trying to _check in_. Message received, loud and clear.” He went to walk past Billy, intending to leave him floundering in the hallway, but Billy caught his arm before he could pass him.

“Please, Steve,” It was both the way he looked when he said it and how he said it that had Steve stopping. Now Billy was looking right at him, and the look in his eyes combined with the fresh bruise on his face had Steve’s ire receding a little bit, taken aback at the almost desolate look on his face. “Can we talk? I didn’t mean it the way you were thinking.”

The tender tone and the tired look in his eyes were enough to convince Steve. He drew back a little, looked Billy over, before nodding his head. Without any further words, he went walking up the staircase to his room, and almost took a sigh of relief when he heard Billy’s soft footfalls behind him on the carpeted stairs.

The walk up to his room had Steve’s mind working in overdrive, and he could feel the sweat starting to bead at the top of his forehead and under his arms. Had Billy really avoided him because of Steve’s nightmare? Or had he avoided him because he could tell Steve was a _queer_ and felt things for him? Billy was smarter than his own good, book smart _and_ street smart. There was no telling how many subtle signs and hints that Steve hadn’t even _realized_ he was dropping that Billy could’ve picked up on. His pulse picked up and he could feel it throbbing through his neck.

His room was still cloudy with smoke when he came back up, but Billy just waved it away without paying it any mind. When Steve silently offered the bowl, Billy just shook his head. Steve raised his eyebrows.

“Nah, I gotta focus on what I’m gonna say.” He said, choosing not to look in Steve’s direction again.

Things hadn’t been this awkward between them in a while. Steve had gotten so used to the easy camaraderie and banter that would fall between them usually that he was taken aback more so than usual. Just _days_ ago, he and Billy had been splashing each other in the pool, eating pizza by the T.V. Could one bad night really change all of that? The desperation to fix it all had Steve being the first one to speak, no matter what Billy had said about telling him something.

“Listen, I’m really sorry about that night,” he rushed out. Billy’s face snapped back to him, and Steve could see the confusion written all over his expression. “I know I freaked you out, and I know it was weird after, but I swear I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“What?” Billy was looking at him like he was crazy, now.

“My nightmare? The freak out afterwards? The way you...” he couldn’t even finish the sentence, afraid how red his face would get if he actually said _held me_ like he was about to. His face already felt like it was a deep red, hot to the touch. He soldiered on though, determined to get it out, “I’m sorry. I know I made things weird. I really didn’t mean to.”

“How’d you think you made things weird?”

Steve shrugged, feeling more and more nervous by the second. He didn’t think Billy could really be this obtuse, which meant it was probably a test. Like if he got the answer wrong or lied Billy would be able to see a flashing neon sign over his head. “ _Because_ I… you _know_ why it made things weird.”

“No. Just tell me why.” Billy looked so earnest, it was easy to believe for a second that he really _didn’t_ know why, but then what other reason would he have for ditching Steve only after that night? Billy was better at reading social cues than Steve, and Steve knew his crush was probably seen from light-years away. Billy pretending he knew nothing about it just so he could shove it in Steve’s face later seemed too cruel, but it was also the only option Steve could see him doing. Friends or not, there was no way Billy Hargrove would take this calmly like he was pretending to.

Steve bristled. He was sick of feeling like he was always the butt of the joke, always left out of some grand scheme or idea because he wasn’t smart enough to keep up with the big dogs. Billy pretending to do so made his anger reach a new wrathful level. “Stop that. You know why.”

“I don’t Steve, I really don’t.” And now Billy was starting to look frustrated by _Steve_ , which only served to boil his temper more. If Billy was going to make Steve say it, just for shits and giggles, he’d at least do it on his own terms.

“Because I like you, okay?!”

Immediate silence. So quiet, it was almost resounding. He regretted the words the instant they flew out of his mouth. Billy, who had been in the process of taking a step toward him, paused where he was. His eyes were wide, and his mouth was moving up and down incrementally, like he kept trying to say something but forgot before the words could leave his mouth. His expression was one of such utter shock, that Steve started doubting whether Billy really _had_ been trying to trick him into admitting his crush. That was a horrible train of thought to go down, though, because once he did, he started regretting showing his cards so early.

Billy didn’t say anything, just stayed where he was. Staring at Steve with those wild eyes. Distantly, Steve realized by now Billy should have said something about the jig being up, maybe a snarky comment about how he always knew or something, but he just stayed silent. Steve was having trouble getting oxygen to his brain, and he felt his breaths start to come in shorter and shorter as the panic set in.

“I didn’t mean to, I swear,” he started rambling, knowing it was too late to take his previous statement back but at least trying to get _any_ sort of damage control done, “And that night, I wasn’t trying to… I didn’t mean to—”

“Steve,” Billy cut him off, his voice far gentler than it should be in the moment. That almost scared Steve more than anger, because at least with anger he knew what to expect. Billy being calm didn’t seem to bode well.

“It just- I wasn’t ever gonna _do_ anything, I just—”

“ _Steve_ , calm down, take a breath.” Billy’s hands flew to his arms and squeezed. Steve dutifully took in a big gulp of air, not that it really helped anything. He was too thrown off by the feeling of Billy willingly touching him after his confession.

“Billy, I—”

“No, let me talk for a second, okay?”

Steve nodded numbly, already preparing for the inevitable.

Billy let go of Steve’s arms, and ran a hand through his hair, looking like he was going to jump out of his skin. “God, you don’t do anything by halves, huh? Just straight up told me. Jesus, took away all my steam.”

Steve didn’t reply, too afraid that anything he said would break Billy’s calm and make him realize how disgusted he should be in Steve’s presence.

“Listen, Steve, you don’t have to keep tweaking, alright? You’re okay, I’m okay, we’re all okay in here.” He moved to sit down on the bed, and when he saw Steve still standing there, stock still, he gently tugged one of his arms down so he could join him. Steve numbly followed the movement, still anxious that at any moment Billy was going to turn on him.

When they were both sat on the bed, half turned toward each other but not really facing head on, Billy finally spoke up. “I like you too, ‘ya know.”

Steve opened his mouth, about to stupidly define the difference between the way _he_ liked Billy and the way _Billy_ like him, but Billy was already predicting it and shaking his head.

“I mean _that way_ , too.” Billy went pink, the color tantalizingly dusting over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “I’ve actually liked you for a while now, so. You know. Not really front-page news.”

Steve’s mind was in shambles as he tried to process Billy’s statement. He still hadn’t gotten over his shock at not being immediately knocked to the ground following his confession, and now… what?

“You what?” Was all he could ask.

Billy rolled his eyes, the familiar gesture making the conversation shift toward a more normal feeling, rather than the Twilight Zone tone it had been in this entire time. “I _said_ I liked you back. Don’t make me repeat it.”

“For a while now?” He asked, brain catching up with he past five minutes.

Billy gave him a quick glance, before shifting his eyes away. “Yes,” he got out.

There was a smile starting to slowly spread across Steve’s face. Billy looked _embarrassed_. He was almost fully flushed, now, and the uncomfortable way he held his body pointed toward Steve only served to endear him more to the other boy. Steve could hardly believe what Billy was _saying._ Billy liked _him?_ For a while now?

“How long?” He couldn’t help but ask, unable to keep the satisfaction out of his voice.

Billy caught onto it immediately, though, and shoved Steve in the shoulder with little force. “Oh yeah, yuck it up, not like you _didn’t_ just confess your own feelings not even five minutes ago.”

“ _Yeah_ , but five minutes ago I thought you were gonna kill me for telling you, so. Let me have my moment.”

“Fine. Since the first week.”

It took him a second to catch up. Then, when he did, “Wait _what?_ You liked me _before_ Tina’s party?”

“God, yes,” Billy groaned, like it was obvious. “Why else do you think I was always up in your grill, 24/7?”

“I don’t know!” The words burst out of him like a relieved form of glee. “You were _literally_ knocking me down in gym!”

Billy grinned at him, looking a little sheepish. “Yeah, probably laid it on a bit too thick.”

They sat there, both grinning. Steve’s face felt so tight and happy he was half convinced he’d get smile lines from the past two minutes alone. To think that Billy _liked_ him? All this time? Once he started thinking about it, it all started to kind of make sense. Steve had been used to guys challenging him before, but none of them had done it the way Billy had, with a singular focus of making sure Steve’s attention was always kept on them. When he looked back over, Billy was still looking a little bashful, and had that pink tinge still sitting on his face. Abruptly, he realized that they were sat closer than they had been before, with their knees knocking and hands dangerously close to each other. He glanced down at the centimeters of difference between his thumb and Billy’s and when he looked back up, he saw Billy was watching his face avidly.

Billy looked a little out of his depth, like he wasn’t sure what the next move was. That was fine. Steve was willing to take the plunge for the second time that night, emboldened by Billy’s returned feelings and the newfound nerve coursing through his veins. When he started to lean forward, he was close enough to feel the quick nervous puff of air Billy let out fan over his face. He was slow, giving Billy the time to back out if he wanted, but he stayed there. Waiting. He closed the distance.

The first brush of warm lips against his own had him sighing almost instantly. This close, Billy’s scent was concentrated, and that combined with the dizzying sensation of his soft lips on Steve had him feeling like he was being dropped on the deep end of the ocean. If it meant this, Steve was willing to drown.

Billy kissed like he did almost everything else: intensely. Steve had thought maybe he had some kind of leg up, since he had been the one to lean in first, but after a few tentative seconds of lip-locking Billy had taken the lead. He tasted like the Marlboro’s Steve knew he smoked every hour, and a little sweet too, like he had been sucking on some candy just hours ago. Steve opened his mouth easily, content to let Billy do whatever, still in disbelief that he was getting this _at all_.

They kiss like that, slow and easy, for a while. Steve spends the whole time tracing Billy’s lips, trying to commit it to memory. When Billy tries to deepen the kiss, Steve just lets it happen, too eager and excited to do much else. Distantly he can hear himself gasping a little, and he tries to rein it in by breathing through his nose. Billy is undeterred in his exploration of Steve’s mouth, making Steve’s head spin even _more_ if it was possible. Kissing Billy in his dreams was never like this, it was close, but never like this. There’s nothing that compares to the actual reality of Billy’s lips on his, the way his tongue does _that_.

He feels one of Billy’s hands grip his waist, and the other comes up a couple seconds later to cup at his jaw. He moves with it, allowing Billy to tilt his head so he can open up _just a little more_ , and this time when he sighs into his mouth Billy is there to swallow it. His own hands come to rest at Billy’s waist, and the feel of firmness instead of soft curves beneath his hands feels much better than it should. Billy’s thumb runs along his jawline, before moving up to cup his cheek. When he pulls away, Steve chases him for a second, undeterred by the way his eagerness is obvious.

They’re both panting afterwards, but don’t break eye contact. Steve searches for something on Billy’s face, maybe some sort of regret, and is relieved to see just pure bliss on it instead. When he gives a smile back, he feels Billy smooth his thumb over his bottom lip, where Steve knows it’s rubbed red and raw. “So.” He says after a minute, when it looks like Billy isn’t going to say anything yet.

Billy just grins back and laughs. “So.”

He looks so good like that, Steve can’t help but rub his own thumbs in the divots of Billy’s hipbones, unable to contain his glee. His cheeks still feel hot. Billy’s are red, too. He reaches up to cup one, the heat in Billy’s cheeks reaching up to his palm.

With that, though, draws his eyes to the other cheek, where the new bruise sits. In the hullaballoo of Steve losing the rest of his marbles and confessing his feelings, he had forgotten that it was even there. He reaches up to touch it with his other hand, but Billy’s face closes off and he flinches back before he can.

“Steve…” He grabs Steve’s wrist before he can bring it to his face. “Don’t.”

“Where’d you get this?” Steve asks softly, fighting Billy’s grip and cupping Billy’s face anyway. This time Billy lets him do it, and when his thumb lightly brushes over the swelling Billy only winces a little bit. The skin beneath feels tight and hot, too, like it’s fresh.

Billy doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t need to. The past couple seconds that he’s finally got oxygen back has Steve thinking back to the _beginning_ of it all, when Billy came over to his house and said he needed to talk to him. “What did you wanna talk about? Was it this?” At _this_ he swipes the thumb softly across the bruising again. This time Billy doesn’t flinch at all.

After a moment, Billy finally speaks. “I meant what I said earlier. You can’t call.”

It’s a slap in the face, seeing as they just made out on Steve’s bed not even five minutes ago. It’s so cold it has him reeling back, hands dropping from Billy’s face and feeling like a grade-A numpty for believing that anything was actually gonna come of this.

Billy sees it all, and grabs Steve’s hands in his own. “Not like how you think, Steve, not ‘cause of that.” He sounds desperate, pleading.

“Then how?” He hates how hurt his voice comes out, but can’t do anything to stop it. The back and forth has him spiraling.

“My dad. He- you just can’t risk stuff like that.”

“Oh. Yeah.” The sudden flood of memory had Billy’s dad floods him with a trepidation. The clipped, intimidating way he spoke over the phone. Steve can’t even imagine what he sounds like in person. “Sorry. I didn’t think it would be a big deal.”

“It shouldn’t be,” Billy looks miserable now, with both of Steve’s hands clutched between his. “But it’s… you gotta understand he’s…”

Billy doesn’t finish. His hands are starting to shake. Steve shifts their hands, so that he’s the one holding Billy’s fingers steady. It’s a 180 from the loose, lax demeanor they’d both had after the kiss. The palpable anxiety makes Steve’s teeth ache. He’s not sure why he feels so nervous all of a sudden, like his body knows something his mind doesn’t, and it hasn’t caught up yet.

“Billy?” he prompts gently. Billy doesn’t look up from where their hands are clasped.

“It’s him.” Is all he says tightly, like it’s painful to drag the words out.

“What?”

“Him. My dad.” Billy glances up at him for a second before averting his gaze again. His hands are trembling like crazy now. “The bruise. That night. The fights. It’s him.”

For a couple blissful seconds, Steve is confused. Then, it all starts to fall into place. Every word Max has said to him about Billy, every word out of _Billy’s_ mouth about his dad, every stolen glance of a bruise or cut or split lip that he’s seen Billy tried to hide; all the moments wrapped up nice and neat with a tight little bow like a Christmas gift.

The realization has him nauseated instantly, afraid he’s about to be sick to his stomach and hurl all over the both of them. Billy’s hands in his own feel suffocating, and he has to push them away while he gets his bearings. Billy’s dad _beats_ him, has _been_ beating him this entire time, and Steve just ate up every excuse without a second thought. Billy’s obviously well versed in hiding this, but _God_ , Steve had been with him for _months_ now, how could he not realize?

He doesn’t realize he’s been hyperventilating until he feels Billy rubbing his back, hand on one of his knees. “Steve,” he pleads, but it comes out muffled like Steve has a pillow over his own head. He tries to get a couple breaths in, but it’s so hard for the first couple of seconds. How could he be so _stupid?_ How could he think Billy got into fights that frequently, when he had never seen anyone else at school sporting the same injuries? Or the way he talked about his dad, like he was always afraid he was looming over his shoulder, how could Steve have just explained _that_ away?

“Steve, please, look at me,” At Billy’s begging, Steve finally gets in the right mind to take a look at him. Billy looks concerned, like _Steve’s_ the one who just admitted to being secretly abused instead of him. He grapples for Billy’s hands again, needed to security and stability of Billy’s warm hands beneath his own.

“I’m good,” he manages, impressed with how steady he’s able to make his voice. It still feels like he’s viewing it all form the outside though, his voice not registering as his own. “Just… gimme a sec.”

Billy gives him all the time he needs, just sits there with Steve’s hands between his own again and looking absolutely wrecked. It’s enough to spurn Steve back into acting normal, the way his hangdog expression sits on his face. It’s baleful enough that Steve feels stupid, having Billy comfort _him_ when the real person suffering here was Billy.

“Billy,” he manages after a couple more seconds, “We have to tell someone.”

“What?” Billy tries to tug his hands out of Steve’s grip, but he keeps them firm. “No, no fucking way.”

“He can’t keep doing this, you can’t keep getting hurt,” his voice sounds more authoritative than how he feels, which is at least some blessing. “We have to tell Hopper, or someone.”

“The Chief of police? Of this small po-dunk town? You think _that’s_ gonna stop my dad?” Billy lets out an ugly laugh. “You think if they couldn’t stop him in California, they’d stop him _here?_ ”

The mention of California has Steve’s mind going back to something Billy once said. About being in the hospital right before they came here. “Where you had to go to the _hospital_ after he was done with you?”

Billy doesn’t answer. That’s answer enough.

“No, no fucking way,” he’s fuming now. “There’s no fucking way I’m letting you go back there. You can’t.”

“Hate to break it to you, pretty boy, but I kind of have to.” He hates how defeated Billy sounds, like he’s already given up on this part of his life. “He doesn’t even know I’m here right now; I’ll have to sneak back in later.”

“Billy, you _can’t_.” The image of Billy climbing in through his bedroom only to get found out and beaten by his dad runs through his mind, bright and vivid. It makes him sick to his stomach. Picturing Billy taking every hit, laying on the ground. That Saturday night his _fingers_ were broken. The visual of the dark black and blue bruises on Billy’s torso had stuck in Steve’s mind still to this day. There’s no way he can just roll over and let Billy go home to _that_. “You have to—”

“Do what?” Billy asked. “Press charges? So he can drag my ass to court and bring up every mistake, every dumb thing I’ve done just to prove his point? He knows I beat your face in last year. That’d be one of the first things he’d testify, that I was violent and a harm to others.”

Steve flounders, unsure of what to say. Billy continues. “It’s not as simple as you think it is, Steve. My dad thinks he owns me. If he ever found out the truth, he’d bury me so deep I’d never be able to get out. Hell, that’s why he unloaded on me last time.”

He searches for a moment, trying to follow Billy’s train of thought. “Saturday?”

Billy nods. “He found a college acceptance letter in my desk. Took me down for thinking I was better than him, told me I’d never escape. S’why it was so bad.”

“Oh,” is all Steve says, thrown off by the first half of Billy’s statement. Obviously, Billy and him had talked before about plans after college, with Billy confusing all the gears in Steve’s head as he tried to explain what mechanical engineers did, but they hadn’t mentioned anything concrete. Steve knew Billy would be applying to California schools, knew Billy was thankful to be out of there, but never knew the full reason why. Now, the thought of Billy just up and leaving at the end of the summer puts a rotten taste in his mouth, and he shuts it away in favor of giving the support Billy needs right now. God knows Billy has more to worry about than Steve’s feelings getting hurt that he wants to get out of his abusive household.

“Yeah. So. Not happening.” Billy’s hands contrast the hard tone he’s using, with the way they’re rubbing soft circles back into Steve’s hands. It’s almost comforting, if his mind wasn’t on about a million depressing tangents. He doesn’t know how it turned back to Billy comforting _him_ , rather than the other way around.

Billy must be able to tell he’s too lost in thought, because he ducks down until Steve catches his eyes again. “Steve, I’m okay. I can handle this. It’s not forever.”

It’s hardly a comforting thought. Steve doesn’t even want Billy to spend the rest of the _week_ at the Hargrove house, let alone the months it’ll take until school is out. Billy goes on, “Besides, I got you now, right?”

The hesitance in his question bleeds through, and Steve rushes to remedy it. “Yes, of course you do Billy. I just- I just don’t know how I’m supposed to be okay with you going home to this every night.”

Billy shrugs a shoulder. It’s a casual gesture that has no place for the conversation topic at hand. But then, Billy’s always been able to play all the bad stuff off so well. “You just. Gotta.”

Steve sighs, unable to think of what to do or say next. Billy seems like he’s pretty clear on the subject matter, which is _don’t mess with it_. Steve, who’s never been able to _not_ mess with it, is having a hard time coping right now.

He tries to think of anything comforting, anything _at all_ reassuring to say, but it all feels flat and useless. Billy is still going home tonight. Billy will be beaten again, and next time Steve will know exactly who did it. All he ever kept asking Billy was _who did this?_ but now he wishes he had never gotten the answer. Wishes that it _wasn’t_ the answer.

Instead, he just says, “Stay the night. Here.”

Billy looks at him with that pitying look. “Steve, I—”

“Not the full night,” he agrees, though he wishes that Billy would really take him up on his offer. “I’ll drive you back before he even wakes up. You can sneak back in. But please, _please_ , just stay here for a couple hours.”

He still looks hesitant. The look gives way when Steve tentatively reaches up to stroke his cheek again, and when Billy shivers and closes his eyes Steve knows he’s got his answer. “Okay,” he agrees softly.

This time when they crawl into bed, Steve doesn’t let a single centimeter of space sit between them. With more bravery than he really feels, he gathers Billy up in his arms until it feels like they’re completely intertwined, like they’re stitched to each other’s skin. It’s kind of a comforting thought, thinking about being able to have Billy with him always, there to make sure he never gets hurt again. It’s the kind of sappy thought that he usually tries to banish from his brain before it gets a mind of its own. Tonight, though, it’s all he thinks about, like the safety of his arms being enough to ward away all of Billy’ s own monsters, real and all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so that's it for chapter 4! what do you guys think? like i said before, steve is kind of an easier POV for me to write and hopefully i did him some justice! i should still be sticking to having one more chapter out, and then i might do an epilogue. we shall see lol. anyways, lmk what you think! im dying to hear the opinion on this chapter lol


	5. will you take me as i am, strung out on another man? california coming home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoooooooooly fuck i am soooo so sorry for taking such a long time, this chapter honestly just go the better of me and between that and school starting up again it took me a while to get through this. every word was so difficult lol. here it is though and i'm so happy to put this out!

“Alright, we’re gonna go through the derivative _one more time_ , and you’re—”

“God, please,” Steve begged from where his face was squashed into the paper, “Please no more. I can’t do anymore math. I’m all mathed out.”

Billy shook his shoulder. “Stop slobbering all over the review. C’mon, just one more problem and we’ll finish for the night. I even wrote it out.”

“Remind me why I can’t just cheat off you?” Steve said desolately, staring down at the numbers on the page like they were his worst enemy. God, Billy thought _he_ was dramatic. “Learning morse code would be easier than doing this again.”

He tapped the sheet with his finger pointedly. Steve grumbled and rolled his eyes but leaned over to do it anyway.

The review was for the last end of six-weeks test. Since the class was full of seniors, Ms. Gardner took some pity on them and said as long as they got a good grade on the last test, and if their attendance wasn’t bad then they would be exempt from the final exam. Billy knew Steve was stressing over that final exam, over his final math grade in general, but Billy knew he ultimately had nothing to worry about. He knew Steve would do fine on the test and be exempt, and even if he didn’t, he knew Steve would pass the final exam. He had come miles further than he or Billy had thought over the past couple of weeks, and while he still complained about the homework, he was struggling with it less.

Almost the entire second semester after every test Steve would always show Billy; sometimes with his brow furrowed, but most of the time with that shy smile Billy had come to like so much. It was different than the other two smiles Steve gave that he liked the most: the goofy one he got whenever Billy made an especially bad joke, or the confident one he gave whenever he thought he was being slick. No, there was something about that shy one, the embarrassed-almost-bashful tilt to it. Something about it always made Billy feel a little breathless, especially when it was because of him.

The same shy smile Steve was shooting him now. The problem was done, Billy realized he’d been zoning out just staring at Steve’s face. He coughed and snatched the paper away, ignoring Steve’s smug look.

“So-o,” Steve said once Billy had finished looking it over, “Prom.”

“Christ almighty,” Billy looked heavenward. “ _Why_ do we have to talk about this now?”

“Because you shut me down every other time!” Steve splayed his hands on the table. “This ends now. We’re officially having this talk.”

Prom was… well. Prom was coming up in a month toward the end of May and other than his final exams, was all Steve could think about, apparently. He really couldn’t give much of a shit about prom, which seemed to be the crux of the issue with Steve. He had never gone to any dances back home, opting instead to smoke weed with his friends on the beach and be _anywhere other than school_. This was completely mind-blowing to Steve, who had attended every dance since middle school. He thought Billy was missing out culturally. Billy thought he was full of shit.

He leaned back and crossed his arms. “Go ahead, just do it.”

“Okay well _first_ , I think we really owe it as a duty to the _school_ , to have half their male nominees show up to the dance in the first place—”

“Shut up.” Billy said darkly. “I don’t owe anyone jack squat. That shit was rigged.”

Last Friday during lunch the intercom had buzzed, giving an announcement for the prom court. When they said Steve’s name first, Billy was immediately nudging him and giving him the smarmiest grin imaginable. When they said Billy’s name next, Steve elbowed him back with his own sneer. Both Byers and Wheelers had made a show of clapping for them, to which Billy gave both of them the finger.

Steve making the court hadn’t really been that much of a surprise, no matter how much Steve liked to harp on it. Steve had been able to salvage most of his reputation the second semester and was able to bounce back from previous social pariah status. Billy, on the other hand, hadn’t tried to reclaim his throne since he had lost it. It was a major surprise anyone even voted for him. He had half a mind to think it was some sort of set-up, but he had to tell himself to stop tripping out over a damn high school dance.

“We made the court for a reason.” Steve said. “I won’t let you take that away from me.”

Billy rolled his eyes. “Next reason. And it better get good.”

“Don’t you wanna _dance?_ ” Steve grinned at him, all bright and goofy. “I’ve never seen you cut a rug. Do a _jig_.”

“Oh my god, you really are so lame.”

Steve dodged his next strike, laughing. “C’mon. Seriously. It would be so much _fun._ ”

“In what way?” Billy asked. “We wouldn’t even be able to dance with each other. We’d probably have to bring dates.”

“Why can’t we just go stag?” Steve countered. “We could dance _near_ each other. If Nancy and Jonathan are there we could just dance in a group.”

“ _Steve_ , that’s so weird. I’m not gonna, like, dance circles around Byers.”

Now Steve rolled his eyes. “Not what I mean. Not like that.”

“Wouldn’t it be weird if we both just, like, showed up single?”

“It’s not like we really have any other prospects,” Steve shrugged. “Unless you have a secret girlfriend I don’t know about.”

“Nah, she’s right here,” Billy cupped Steve’s chin. “And she’s so pre—”

“Shut up,” Steve batted his hand away, face flushing that pretty bright red. “Stop trying to distract me. I’m making a point, here.”

Billy slung an arm over the back of Steve’s chair, and thumbed Steve’s shoulder. “What’s the point? That dances are lame, and we’ll have much more fun anyway if we skip?”

“C’mon,” And now Steve was playing unfair, placing a warm hand on Billy’s chest. “Just think about it. You don’t even have to say yes right now.” His thumb rubbed over Billy’s sternum. He had to fight his shudder so Steve wouldn’t know that he had gotten him, hook, line, and sinker. The heat from his palm to Billy’s chest was almost unbearable, in just the right way.

“I’ll _think_ about it,” he said sourly. “No promises though. I still think dances are lame as fuck.”

Despite his tone, Steve still grinned big and bright, both hands coming to rest on Billy’s chest before lightly tugging him closer. “Sweet. Now that we’ve gotten _that_ out of the way, this next thing should be easier…”

“Steve,” Billy groaned. “You’re killing me here.”

“It’s really nothing, in the grand scheme of things just—”

“Steve.” Billy said again. Sometimes it was good to just cut the ramble off before it began.

“Thekidswannagotothedinertonight,” Steve said quickly.

“Gesundheit, now can you please say that again?”

Steve took a breath. “The kids wanna go to the diner tonight.”

Billy tried to lean back, but Steve’s hands in his shirt stopped him. “And why does this involve me?”

“ _Billy._ ”

“Ugh, why?” He knew he sounded like a little kid, but he felt justified. “Can’t you guys do that without me?”

“We _could_ , but I don’t _want_ to. Besides, they don’t even hate you anymore.”

Billy raised an eyebrow.

“Well,” Steve amended, “I mean. They’re not that fond of you, sure, but there’s no, like. Lingering animosity.”

Steve had been trying to integrate Billy into whatever thing he had going on with the nerd squad. All of the times Billy had teased him about being a babysitter were _true_ , and he couldn’t even lord it over him. Steve had absolutely no shame that he spent most of his time with preteens. Max was alright, because at least she was funny a little bit of the time. Little Byers was his favorite, because he barely said a word to Billy and never tried to rifle through all of his tapes, like Little Wheeler did. Little Wheeler was a snot to practically everyone, so at least Billy knew he wasn’t getting any special treatment. Sinclair steered clear of Billy at all costs. Henderson still glared daggers at him every time they crossed paths.

Tensions had gotten considerably better since Steve had apparently announced to them, “Billy is my friend, and you all have to just deal with it.” It still wasn’t perfect, though. Not even Billy was as annoying as half those kids when he was younger.

He scratched his head. “You already promised them, huh?”

“Yes, so if I flake now, I’m gonna look like a giant asshole. You need to pick up Max anyway, and you said _yourself_ your dad would be out late.”

Steve flashed his brown eyes at Billy in his own attempt at the puppy dog stare. And it was still effective, even when Billy _knew_ that he was playing it up. God, he was so weak.

“Fine,” he said darkly, “But keep Wheeler _out of my car_. I’m not having that little snot touch my tapes again. Fucking _greasy fingerprints_ , Jesus.”

“Okay, now we’re done. No more things to bring up, plus we still have an hour to kill before we pick them up.” Steve grinned. “Wanna make out?”

About forty-five minutes later they pulled up to the arcade to get the kids. Billy wanted to stay in his car (of course) so he just let Steve handle the rest. Henderson chose to ride with Steve (no surprise there), and true to his word, Steve had Wheeler in his car as well. Little Byers and Sinclair sat in the back of Billy’s car, while Max snagged the front seat.

Billy barely grunted a word at them, choosing instead to drive to Sally’s in silence. The boys in the back were talking about their dorky game, and it took him half the car ride to realize that Max had been completely silent, just staring at his face intensely.

“What?” He asked, barely resisting the urge to touch his mouth. Making out for the past forty minutes made his lips more red than usual and had a flush sticking to his skin. He had tried to smooth out his hair, not that his curls ever _really_ got smoothed out, but it was nothing compared to Steve’s hair. Billy _loved_ to thread his fingers through it when they were kissing.

He didn’t think it was obvious they’d been fooling around, but the way Max was staring was making him paranoid. “ _What?_ ” he repeated.

“Oh, nothing,” Max said, still staring at him. He didn’t like the look of the smile creeping on the edge of her lips. “How did tutoring go?”

Billy gave her a flat stare. She never asked about that. “Fine.” He said shortly.

“Alright,” Max said, outright grinning now. She still had a mean look in her eye. “Good that it went well.”

He was _this_ close to revving the engine and pulling it from 40 to 75 just to get her off her high horse, but he knew Little Byers’ frail body probably wouldn’t be able to handle the whiplash. They were pulling up to Sally’s anyways, and Billy knew when it was time to cut his losses.

The kids all poured into the restaurant, voices raised and almost shouting as they announced their presence. Missy’s face barely changed when she saw them all walk in, but Billy _swore_ he saw an irritated twitch under her eye.

She hadn’t ever said anything to him after that night, always choosing to pretend everything was normal after the fact. Billy did feel a little indebted to her, though, since she was the one who had pointed him out to Steve in the far corner. God knows he would’ve just probably crawled into an alley and shivered while waiting out the night.

The kids get the big booth while he and Steve take the one next to it. Billy absolutely refused to be crammed like sardines with a bunch of middle schoolers ages ago, and he hasn’t budged on that stance since. Henderson always protested, and they always had a stare off until Dustin would relent, or Steve would step in.

Not even five minutes passed, and he already felt two straw wrappers get blown to the back of his head, getting caught in his hair. He grabbed them, spat in his hand, and balled them up. Without any warning, he turned back and flicked it directly into Henderson’s forehead. The dweebs erupted in titters, laughing at Henderson and being a general nuisance. Billy turned back into their booth, with no small feeling of accomplishment.

Steve’s mouth was in an open grimace. “That was seriously _so gross_. Who spits in their hand like that?”

“Someone who brought a spitball to a paper fight,” He said defensively. “I won, didn’t I?”

“My hero,” Steve remarked dryly.

Billy gave his ankle a kick under the table, and got his own foot caught between Steve’s in the process. Steve kept his foot hostage, mischievous grin playing at his lips. The diner was the only place they could afford to play footsie, since the lighting wasn’t great, and you could barely see anyone’s feet in the back corner booths like these. Billy was able to tug his own foot free and set about catching Steve’s ankles, when Max loudly cleared her throat.

He looked up, only to see Missy hovering at the edge of the table. Billy and Steve unlocked their feet, both going different shades of red while they mumbled their orders to her, embarrassed to have been caught out in some capacity. When he snuck another look at Max, she was still staring at him, even from across the tables. He didn’t like that canny look in her eye and turned so she would have his back again. Steve didn’t seem to notice, but that was nothing new.

Dinner was nice, but dinner was always nice with Steve. _Everything_ was nice with Steve, more than nice, even. A lot of the time Billy was waiting for the other shoe to drop. The past month since they had laid everything out on the table was probably the best month he’d had to date. Seeing Steve almost every day, being allowed to _touch_ Steve and kiss him… it was too good to be true. Had to be. Nothing in Billy’s life had ever worked out for this long.

He hadn’t known how freeing it would be to have someone else in on his secret. Not like Max, who was living her own shade of Neil-inspired horror, but someone who was removed from the situation. Every time he turned up at school or Steve’s with fresh bruises, he didn’t get a passive audience anymore. Instead, he had Steve’s attention and commitment to making Billy feel better afterwards. If that meant watching a funny movie, splurging on dinner, or making out on Steve’s bed until their lips were numb, he was completely down to help in any way he could. When Billy had finally gotten his splints taken off his fractured fingers, Steve had massaged his hand afterwards to get rid of the muscle cramps still there. It was perfect. It was terrifying.

Because Billy knows how this goes. He’s got an acceptance to USC, and a determination to leave Neil Hargrove behind. There really isn’t room for Steve in that picture, never was in the first place. Guys like Steve were destined to have the traditional, red-blooded, all-American lifestyles. White picket fences with two kids and a golden retriever. Not whatever he had with Billy. If he were a better man, he wouldn’t’ve let it go this far. It was too tempting, though, when Steve had looked at him like that in the darkness of his room that night. Billy had wanted for _so long_ , and he was finally getting something. It was too good to pass up. But he knew it would be bad for him in the long run.

He comforted himself by knowing that he at least got to have this, even if it was just for a little while. In his wildest dreams he would ask Steve to come with him, but he knew Hawkins held more for Steve than it ever had for Billy. They had only been dating a _month_. There was no way Steve would drop everything and move halfway across the country for just Billy alone. It was a thought that often soured his mood and left him nauseated, but he knew he had to save face. Every day that got closer to the end of the year seemed to loom over him, like a dark cloud before a storm.

His dad hadn’t been giving him too much flack either, which was both a comforting and dangerous thought. Yeah, he roughed him up here and there for the past couple of weeks, but nothing like that night in March. Billy was afraid he was about to be long overdue for a beating, and the fact that his dad hadn’t mentioned his acceptance letter _once_ since that initial confrontation only seemed to back that thought up. Neil was impulsive sometimes, sure, but his favorite thing to do was lie in wait and make Billy really sweat it out. It was one of his biggest talents, his patience. When it came down to something like this, he was willing to take the python approach.

Either way, whatever happened, Billy was committed to seeing it through. If that meant a painful and messy break up with Steve towards the end of the year, then that’s what he’d have to live with. It would be hard, but Billy was used to the feeling of life chewing him up and spitting him out. For his dad, he could only wait. Sooner or later a move would be made, and Billy would just have to bear it.

On the drive home, when it was just him and Max, she brought up one of the things he was stressing about. “So, your friendship with Steve.”

He didn’t spare her a look. “What about it?”

“Nothing. Just, you know. Wasn’t expecting it.”

“Yeah, well, me neither.” Billy scratched the side of his face tensely. Max was still staring at him. “What, Max?”

“Does Steve know you’re going to California?”

He barely stopped himself from skidding on the brakes. “What?”

But Max didn’t back down. “Have you told him?” she pressed.

“Why does that matter?” he asked, avoiding the question.

“I mean, I’m just saying. I for one would like to know if my _friend_ is leaving.”

He didn’t like the pointed tone when she said “friend”. He looked at her, sussing her out. She stood her ground and stared back at him. He broke it off to glare at the road ahead.

“Yeah, I told him. He knows.” he muttered. Steve had just seemed to accept it whenever Billy had told him that night, not outwardly reacting in any way. It had cemented the idea in Billy’s mind that asking Steve to go to California was never gonna happen. He didn’t seem to care either way, and there was no way Billy was going to drag him kicking and screaming to somewhere he didn’t wanna go.

Max could sense the rotten turn of the conversation, so she dropped it. Once again, Billy felt like a dick for basically acting like a mini-Neil to Max, making her feel like she had to tiptoe around him and cater to his feelings. He tried to salvage the rest of the ride. “He already knows, and it doesn’t look like it bothers him.”

Her eyebrows flew up. “Really? Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” he sighed, feeling defeated.

“I don’t know. I mean don’t get me wrong, I know you’re smart and all, but sometimes you can be such a dunderhead. Especially with feelings, guys are _always_ bad at feelings.”

“Oh yeah?” He quirked a brow, choosing to ignore the part where she called him an idiot. “And how would you know about guys being dumb with feelings?”

“None of your business,” she muttered.

“Max,” he said seriously, and paused until she gave him her attention again. “You gotta be careful, okay? I can only cover for you so much. If he finds out you’re _still_ hanging with Sinclair…”

“You’re not gonna tell him, are you?!” her eyes nearly bugged out of her head.

“Calm down, of course not. You still gotta be careful, though. You can’t underestimate him.”

Max was looking out the window sourly. “Trust me, I don’t underestimate him.”

It was silent for a couple moments, both of them not knowing how to address the tension in the car. Billy knew he was right, though. If Neil found out Max was _still_ hanging out with Sinclair, he didn’t want to think of what his dad would do. He hadn’t hit Max yet, but Billy knew there was only so much push Neil could take before he finally decided to shove back. And he always shoved back _hard_.

“I know it’s shitty,” he said after a moment. “I know it sucks. But there’s no alternative.”

They didn’t say anything else the rest of the car ride home, Max choosing to stew in her own misery in silence. Neil and Susan still weren’t back whenever they pulled up, which was a relief. When they got in, Max headed straight to her room without looking back. When he settled into his own room, he could hear the static of her walkie through the wall. Her voice was low, so he couldn’t make out what she was saying.

At least that was one thing on her side, having her little friend group. If anything started happening to her while he was gone, he could at least be sure that _one_ of the twerps would be able to tell. Max also hadn’t had the impaired childhood he had, was more of a spitfire than Billy could ever really claim he was. Max had the luxury of growing up in a home for the first couple of years where she didn’t have to watch her every move, every word that came out of her mouth. She mostly still thought of Neil as an _asshole_ , and not the indescribably entity of fear that Billy had come to think of him as.

Most likely, Max would fight back. And although that was a great though to fantasize about, the fact of the matter was that she was still a girl. Barely a teen. She could talk back and snark back all she wanted, but there would come a time when Neil’s wrath would inevitably come down on her. And Billy wanted her to be prepared for the before and after. No one had ever done it for him, not even his mom, and he’d be damned to leave it to her the same way.

~

A week later, on Saturday, him and Max headed out for a day at the arcade. It was the perfect cover for Billy, who was supposedly “supervising” her, to get in a couple of uninterrupted hours with Steve. They’d meet at the arcade, drop the kids off, and then head out to Steve’s for a couple hours. That was the plan. They made it as far as halfway across the living room to the door.

“Just wait one second,” his dad called out. Billy said every curse under the sun in his head as he obeyed and came to a stop. Max was ahead of him, looking as fed up with Neil as Billy felt.

“I’m just gonna borrow your brother today,” his dad said to Max, and Max only. He clapped a hand onto Billy’s shoulder. His dad made it _sound_ voluntary, even though all three of them knew it wasn’t the case.

“I…” he tried to speak at first, but his mouth had gone so dry he hadn’t been able to get past the first word. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and tried to sound more at ease than he felt. “I’m supposed to watch Max today, sir.”

Neil’s focus was fully on him now. “Well, that’s alright. Her mother can just drop her off and pick her up. You and I are going to be busy all day.”

The heaviness in his throat dropped to his stomach. Steve had been talking his ear off all week about the new fried chicken joint he was going to take Billy to today.

All of that was dashed now, and while Billy tried to hide his anguish, he was positive his dad could still somehow _sense_ it. He probably felt pretty satisfied with himself for successfully throwing a wrench in Billy’s plans. And all Billy could do was just accept whatever it was. His dad’s tone brooked no arguments.

“Yes, sir.” He said dully, already picturing the look on Steve’s face when he saw Max arrive alone at the arcade instead of with Billy.

“Go get changed into something you won’t mind getting dirty. Wear some work shoes,” he ordered, and jerked his head in the direction of Billy’s room.

Without even looking back at Max, both because he didn’t wanna see her face and didn’t want her to see his, he walked what felt like the green mile back to his room. On the way there his mind raced with the possibilities of what this trip was for, coming up with a dozen scenarios that all seemed more menacing than the last. Somehow, they all ended with him getting his ass kicked. That seemed like the most likely outcome.

He changed without conscious thought, dressing into some ratty workout clothes and heavy boots. He desperately wished for a smoke, just to calm his nerves, but there was no time. He decided to just accept his fate and go with his dad, afraid that any dilly-dallying might only make the day start out rottener than it originally was.

When he got back to the living room, Max was still standing there staring at his dad. Her fists were clenched at her sides. “Go on, Maxine,” his dad ordered, and it sounded final.

Max was openly furious, brave (or stupid) enough to glare at Neil as she passed by him. Billy admired her gumption and wished he could channel her courage into what he was feeling now, which was just inescapable dread. Max stomped back to Neil and Susan’s room, making sure to slam the door as loudly as she could. Billy avidly watched his dad’s face for a rection and was rewarded by a minute muscle twitch in his jaw. She was probably pushing it a little too much, but in the moment, it was the display he needed. Something to at least hold onto for the rest of this shitty day. It was refreshing to see someone stick it to Neil, even if it was an infinitesimal amount.

“Come with me,” he said, regarding Billy at last. “We’re going to one of my sites today.”

Billy barely caught his mouth from hanging open. He just stood there dumbly, trying to figure out what his dad’s angle was, before replying, “Yes, sir.” He wished there were some way to say no.

The drive was only twenty minutes but felt like an hour. Billy had never been to one of his dad’s construction sites before and was in a perpetual state of panic the entire ride up there. He couldn’t imagine that physical labor was going to be the _only_ thing on the menu today, and his mind jumped back and forth between ideas of what the twist could be. More than once he anxiously wondered if this was where his dad was gonna dump his body. He tried not to mull on that one too much, though, trying to comfort himself by thinking of how if his dad really wanted to get rid of him there was no way he would do it so obviously in front of Max.

Or maybe he was crazy enough to do it, was fed up enough with Billy’s bullshit to just go ahead and try it. Without realizing it, he had been anxiously shaking his leg up and down, too keyed up with anticipation. His dad cleared his throat a little, and Billy was jerked enough out of his thoughts to still his movement. They were pulling up.

He hadn’t been to any of his dad’s sites back in California, but work had been good there. So by default, Billy knew way more about it than he needed to. Hawkins was different, Neil couldn’t seem to catch a huge break here like he’d always been able to back home. His office was a sad-looking trailer, that only had one window. Walking up to it felt foreboding. There were a couple men in fluorescent vests and helmets here and there, walking around and carrying plywood. They all at some point took a pause to stare at Billy and his dad, before moving on with their business. Billy wished he could transport bodies for just a couple hours, be one of these men that were able to look the other way and not think twice.

The “office” looked just as depressing on the inside as it did on the outside. There were mostly file cabinets in there, with a desk pushed to the far end. The lighting wasn’t all that great, just two lamps and then the light from that window. There was only one seat behind his dad’s desk.

“Do you know why I took you here, Billy?”

He tried not to go breathless. “No, sir.”

His dad smiled, gave a chuckle that didn’t sound nice. “You know, you’d think such a whiz kid would be able to understand.”

Billy stayed silent. The statement didn’t need an answer.

His dad just stared at him, narrowed eyes tracking every inch of his face. “I’ll wait until the end of the day to give you your lesson. I think it’ll be more effective that way. For now, let’s get to work.”

He was given a work vest, hat, and gloves. Physical labor wasn’t really what route he had expected his dad to go to, but he wasn’t giving any complaints. If anything, he’d probably be able to withstand this the most. Just a couple hours of mindless labor, that’s all he had to push through. He’d just pretend to be somewhere else the entire time.

They walked back out, Billy trailing behind and feeling every inch of the kicked dog that he was sure he looked like. His dad marched them up to another middle-aged man, big around the middle, who had a clipboard and a dark black mustache.

“My boy here needs an honest days’ work,” his dad said, clapping a rough hand on Billy’s shoulder. The other man’s eyes tracked the movement before switching back to his dads grinning face. “Give him whatever needs to be done, make sure it’s the grunt work. I’ll be back to check on him in a bit.”

The other man nodded. “Sure thing, boss.”

They both seemed to wait until his dad had his back turned and was out of earshot. The other man stuck out a hand, and Billy took it cautiously, feeling distinctly off-kilter. “I’m Chaz, kid,” the other man introduced.

“Billy,” he muttered, and didn’t bother to make eye contact for too long. He felt so awkward standing there, like his father’s disappoint in him was written on his face for everyone to see.

Chaz sighed and looked at his clipboard, “I’m not gonna lie, there’s really not much for you to do. Boss didn’t tell me he’d be taking you here.”

Billy gave an uncomfortable half-shrug. “I can do whatever. I don’t care.”

Another beat passed as Chaz looked around the site, searching for something for Billy to do. He looked like he found something and gestured for Billy to follow him.

There was a bunch of men cutting plywood with a table saw, and others collecting it and placing them into uniform piles. Chaz led him directly to the men.

“Alright boys, this is boss’s son, he’s gonna be helping you guys haul the wood for the scaffolding.” Chaz swept a hand in Billy’s general direction. The other men didn’t seem to be bothered that much, barely taking a minute to regard him before resuming their work. Billy felt some tension release.

He watched what the other men hauling wood were doing, where they were going, and tried to jump in. It was heavier than it looked, and the first couple of trips were definitely awkward as he tried to find which way suited him best. After a couple go’s he was able to handle them easier, though, and was soon able to keep up with the rest of them.

It was mid-April in Hawkins, so it wasn’t chilly, but there had still been a breeze in the morning. After a couple trips of hauling the wood, though, the breeze didn’t feel like anything to counteract the sweat on his face. The morning sky transitioned to a clear, afternoon one, and with that came the glaring sun. Billy felt the heat beat down on his skin as he made every pass, and just added it to the list of things to ignore. He kept his breathing even and tried to just let his mind focus elsewhere.

Thoughts of Steve would just make him depressed, thinking of their dashed plans this afternoon. It was easier to just tune it out by thinking of the ocean: the sounds of the gulls flying overhead, salt spraying his face, and cool water rushing up his shins. It was a balm to the blistering heat that was starting to build in his back and arms.

This kind of pain was at least the most bearable, though. Never had he been so thankful that he worked out regularly and was able to compete with the rest of the guys here. At least he knew that he wasn’t _completely_ inept looking. No one could claim he was being lazy, at least. His dad’s trailer had the perfect vantage point to see all the men walking back and forth, and Billy wondered if he was watching him through the window right now. Probably was watching for any moment that Billy took a pause or slacked off. He shouldered the piece of wood in his hands and told himself he’d be in motion this entire day; if anything so that his dad wouldn’t be able to complain.

That went on for about an hour, until they switched him to start pulling wheelbarrows of the powdered concrete to place at the base of the foundation. It was just another task for him to slip his mind from, doing the work physically but not really being there at all. None of the other guys bothered him, which suited Billy just fine. The last thing he needed was an excuse for Neil to say he wasn’t doing his job.

None of the other guys seemed to say anything about Billy’s dad; whether it was because he was actually a good boss, or because they didn’t want to say anything in front of his son. Billy couldn’t _imagine_ what kind of a boss his dad was: if he was anything like he was at home then he wouldn’t be surprised if the guys were too afraid to complain about him.

His dad came and checked on him after three hours. He wasn’t satisfied when Chaz told him Billy was doing a fine job.

“I don’t want him just doing a fine job, I want him to feel a real day’s work.” He said. Billy barely held back his tongue from reminding his dad how _he_ didn’t even work on these sites; just bossed everyone around. Chaz looked uncomfortable, but quick to acquiesce.

“Sure thing, boss,” he replied obediently.

When lunch came around, his dad stayed in his trailer and made sure to make eye contact with Billy as he shut the door. He knew what that meant. The other men gathered around outside, taking out their brown bags and boxes. Billy knew he’d only face embarrassment if he knocked on his dad’s door and got turned away, so he decided to spare himself the shame and sit behind one of the piles of plywood until the break was over.

He itched for a cigarette, already wanting this day to be over. Every time he thought of how much of a drag it was, Steve’s face came to mind and made him even more sullen. Billy probably wouldn’t be able to hang out afterwards, probably wouldn’t even want to from being so tired. The lunch break seemed to drag on forever, every minute hearing the other men talk in the distance just making him more and more aware of how off he felt. When he heard them call the break over, it was sweet relief.

Working on an empty stomach with just water sloshing around was never a good idea, but Billy didn’t know what the other alternatives were. His mouth and face were dry and chapped, and the only balm was the sweet relief of cool water every half hour. But as he kept working and exerting, he could just feel his body start to shut down. He felt like he was breaking out in chills.

His skin was cold and trembling a little bit, and he took that as good a sign as any that he needed to drop what he was carrying immediately. It took only two minutes for him to find some corner where no one was at to lean over and throw up all the water he had drank throughout the day.

He kept dry heaving for a while, watery bile still coming up even though he had nothing left in him. The sun beating down on his back and arms did nothing to help, only intensified the shakiness. His head was pounding, and it was hard to think with all the loud sounds of heavy machinery. The headache was making him feel like he had the spins, and he tried to gulp in some more air to try to alleviate any of his symptoms. He was crouched there for who knows how long, eyes closed and heaving breaths. He felt a shade across his back, and when he opened his eyes, he saw the silhouette of someone standing behind him. It was no surprise to look over his shoulder and see his dad.

“Pitiful, can’t even get through one full day of work. Did you get sick? Is that how weak you are?” he didn’t wait for answer, just grabbed Billy’s shoulder and yanked him up.

It wasn’t the right move for how weak he was, and Billy found himself fighting another dry heave while his dad looked on in disgust. He steered Billy towards his trailer, past some of them men who were now standing and staring and pulled him into his office. The shock of air conditioning was too much on his overheated skin at first and sent him with another case of chills that racked his body before he could stop it. His dad didn’t follow him in, just shut the door. He stood there, waiting for whatever was next.

What he didn’t expect was to see his dad with one of the concrete bags. From the looks of his own red face, he was struggling to even get it in the office. He dragged it in, and let it sag at Billy’s feet.

“Pick it up,” he ordered.

Billy hesitated for only a second, wondering what kind of angle his dad was coming from. He held the bag in his arms to his chest.

“Not like that, over your head,” his dad said.

Now Billy really hesitated, before shifting the bag in his arms to reposition it so he could hold it over his head. It wasn’t too bad of a weight to carry on a good day, but his arms were already aching from hours of menial work. He didn’t know how long his dad was gonna make him hold it for, but Billy wasn’t feeling too confident either way. Even getting it over his head caused him to pant a little. Was his dad trying to get him to bludgeon himself?

“I wanted to wait until the end of the day to give you the lesson, but since you couldn’t even follow through on _that_ I’ll just have to make do.”

His dad walked around him in a circle. Billy kept his eyes pinned to the wall in front of him, counting the letters on the filing cabinets. He was breathing through his nose, trying not to crack a facial expression. His dad just walked and walked around him.

“Let’s talk about the future, Billy. Let’s talk about _your_ future. Your big, big plans. Thought you could just slink off, not say anything to your old man?”

He breathed through his nose, hoping that maybe silence would be enough of an answer. It was so much better when his dad just lectured _at_ him rather than making Billy compete.

No such luck, though. He paused in front of Billy, staring him down. “That was a question,”

Billy tried not to sound like he was breathing heavily when he answered, “No, sir.”

“Really? Because you hid that letter, Billy. I think that you thought you would just be _clever_ enough to just escape. Leave your old man behind without a backwards glance. Is that true?”

His arms were shaking, and he felt his fingers buzzing. “No, sir,” he repeated. There wasn’t even anything he _could_ say, every excuse sounded fruitless to his own ears. He knew that wasn’t the answer that Neil wanted, but he didn’t know what else to give him. The strain of the bag over his head was taking up most of his attention.

“See, I just know that’s a lie, son. You were going to sneak off in the middle of the night, because that’s what you feel you’re owed. Isn’t it?”

He didn’t say anything. His dad’s breath was hot on his face.

“Maybe I look at you and I feel I’m owed. You’ve cost me a lot, Billy, in ways you can’t even imagine.” His dad was staring at him, unblinking. He wished he could just close his eyes, but he knew if he did that there would be immediate consequences. “You think you’re going to make something of yourself? You’re the only person who does. Everyone else knows how much of a screw up you are.”

His dad resumed circling him. Billy didn’t dare move his eyes away from the spot he was staring at in the wall. The cool air of the air conditioning unit did nothing to stop the feverish heat that was beginning to take over his body from how difficult it was to keep the bag over his head.

“That’s actually something you seem to excel at, screwing up,” his dad said, “I think it’s pretty laughable that you think you’re going to be able to survive on your own out there. You wouldn’t be able to do something right if your life depended on it.”

He stopped again, getting close to Billy’s face. This close he could smell the coffee still on his dad’s breath and tried to ignore the way the hot air puffed over his sweaty face. “Your mom saw it, too. Why do you think she didn’t bother to bring you when she ran off?”

He blinked back tears, trying not to show how his breath caught. His arms faltered a little, though, and his dad was able to see that he’d nicked a weak spot.

“That’s right Billy, even the mom that you _loved_ to idolize and thought did no wrong saw this in you. Not even the potential of your _future_ was enough to bring you along. She saw exactly what I’m seeing now, and what everybody else sees. A waste of time and effort.”

Billy was furiously blinking now, aware of how his eyes were filling up more and more with tears. The urge to gasp or gulp in air to ground himself was staggering, but he held onto his poker face for a little longer. There was still nothing he could say.

“That’s all you’re _ever_ going to be, Billy,” and here his dad almost looked guilty. “Just a burden on everyone around you, and sooner or later there won’t be anyone who’s decided you’re worth it to stick around.”

It was the final straw. It was enough to finally have his arms cave in, and he only had a couple seconds to push his arms out and get himself out of the way to prevent the bag from dropping onto his head. It hit the ground with a heavy _thump_ that shook the floor and rocked the walls around them.

He just stood there, staring at the bag on the ground, heaving in breaths. His arms felt cold and trembled all over. The tears had taken over his eyes almost completely, and while none of them had fallen yet it was enough to have everything in his vision go blurry. Blinking it away and feeling the first trails down his cheek felt like the worst loss he’d sustained yet.

His dad stood before him, probably feeling victorious in finally getting Billy to crack. He had no clue how much of a chord his words had struck, though. Or maybe he did. Maybe he really was a mind reader, and he knew that Billy had been torn up over the fact that he really would be going to California alone, no Steve at all. Maybe he had felt that energy pouring off of Billy the entire week, the kind that screamed _worthless_ and _not good enough_. Whether it was luck or not it didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was right.

It was foolish to think that a couple good grades and some scholarships would just magically solve all of his problems. Like just moving to a different state would change a fundamental part of himself, which was the inability to get anything right. He’d probably end up crashing and burning there too, except this time it would be all on his own and all his fault. No amount of math classes or textbooks could change that. Couldn’t change the fact that he really was such a waste that his own _mother_ didn’t want to take him with her.

It took a couple seconds to realize that the high, reedy sounds filling the trailer were his own breaths coming in like whimpers. He just kept staring at the bag on the floor, uncaring of how he could feel his nose starting to clog past all of his crying. He expected his dad to kick him while he was down but was met with a surprisingly gentle hand on his back.

“It’s alright, son. It’s a hard pill to swallow, but it’ll do you much better in the long run. You’ll see one day; you’re going to thank me for a lesson like this.” It was the most comforting his dad had ever tried to sound, and the hand rubbing his back created a maelstrom of emotions in Billy’s head. On the one hand he could just say fuck all this noise and disregard everything; on the other hand, his dad hadn’t been this consoling in at least five years. It was pathetic to admit, but it felt nice to have a kind touch from his dad when he’d been without it for so long.

His dad let him heave for a little bit before he finally withdrew and went to get his bag. “We’re all done for today,” he said, and it still had that uncharacteristic gentle tone that Billy desperately sought to make sense of.

They walked out of the trailer and towards the car. He still felt shaky on his feet, and the setting sun was still too bright for his eyes. He felt like an exposed wire, dangerously exposed. He kept his head down the entire walk to the car, didn’t dare to look at the workers faces. A hand returned on his back to guide him in, and Billy was numb enough to accept the gesture.

The whole ride home was silent; his dad probably viscously satisfied with the outcome of his little plan for today, and Billy who was still too shellshocked to dare say anything. When they pulled back up to the house, he was grateful to get out of the car and head to the safety of his room. His dad didn’t say anything about Billy walking briskly ahead of him. He had already gotten what he wanted.

Max was sat at the dinner table when he walked in, and immediately jumped up to interrogate him. He was faster, though, and made it to his room and was able to shut the door before she could accost him. He heard her footsteps after him, and then heard his dad telling her to leave him alone. The footsteps stopped, but he could tell she was still lingering outside his door. To prove a point, he flicked off his lights.

It was easy to collapse into bed, and after the strenuous day it felt good to rest his aching muscles. Not only was he exhausted from working all day, but even the sheer act of crying and breaking down had him feeling tired as well. It was nothing he wanted to ruminate on, that moment of weakness. In fact, there was _nothing_ from the day he wanted to ruminate on, especially the fact that his worst fears were destined to come true.

He drifted off into a heavy sleep, missing dinner and waking up hours later when the sky was already black. There was no sound in the house, except for Max’s room where he could hear her low tones through the room. Staying up late, talking to her friends. It was so easy for her. Well, someone had to in this hellhole of a house. The resentment he might have felt before was squashed with a new feeling of listlessness as he realized there really was no changing anything. Shitty situations stayed the same. Sometimes, even when you tried your hardest, you’d still end up failing. And Billy was great at failing.

He let the sound of her muffled voice lull him back into a more restless sleep, tossing and turning for the rest of the night while intermittently getting rest. It was what he got. It was what he deserved.

~

The melancholy mood he came home with Saturday night carried for the rest of the weekend. It carried until Monday, when he heard his alarm going off and realized that he was about to have to face it all today. It felt impossible getting himself out of bed. He’d been practically glued to the sheets yesterday, only bothering to get up when he was sure everyone was asleep to sneak something to eat from the kitchen.

He felt like he was watching from the outside as he dressed and got ready for school. The low-grade panic at the thought of seeing Steve had upgraded into full-freak out zone. It wasn’t the fact that he was _scared_ of Steve, more that he was scared of what Steve would do. No matter what he knew that Steve would try to convince him that his dad was wrong, all the while proving Billy’s point that he wasn’t enough. It would hurt too much to hear the words come from Steve, especially when he seemed so content with them just inevitably _ending_ things like Billy knew they would.

Max spared him the third degree until they were in the car on the way to school. Even then, she tiptoed around the subject with more tact than Billy had thought possible for her.

“I know you probably don’t wanna talk about Saturday,” she started hesitantly. “But what happened? You didn’t come out of your room the rest of the day, or yesterday.”

Billy kept his eyes on the road. “Nothing, Max. Just dad trying to teach me a lesson.”

He felt her eyes on him, probably scanning over him to check for any new bruises. When she couldn’t find any, she continued, “Are you okay? You seem like you’re off.”

He breathed heavily through his nose. It was hard to not fidget under her scrutiny, and he wished the car ride would just be over with. “Yes. I’m fine. Nothing to worry about.”

She was silent for a moment. The car was quiet. He hoped that was where it would end, but when Max spoke up again, he wasn’t surprised.

“Steve was really freaked out when you didn’t show,” she said lowly, “He was really worried about you.”

Deep breaths. “Yeah, sounds like him.”

Even from the corner of his eye he could see the incredulous look on her face. “What’s going on? What did he _do_?”

It was no doubt that she was referring to his dad. He decided to be silent anyways. The middle school was coming up in the distance, and he pressed on the gas to get them there just that quicker. Max seemed to realize that she wouldn’t be getting anywhere with this conversation, and when Billy dropped her off, he ignored the concerned face she shot him through the window. Watching in the rearview as he drove away, he saw her in her little huddle of friends.

He deliberately was late getting to school, too afraid to see Steve leaned up against his BMW waiting for him. The front office gave him shit when he came in, but it was easy to tune out the old receptionist behind the desk. He slipped into class, ignored the glares from his teacher for his tardiness, and spent the rest of the period looking at the grain of his desk. Rinse and repeat for the rest of the day.

The only times he strayed from usual was during lunch and Math. He skipped lunch, didn’t even go to his car to smoke because he was afraid Steve would get him there. Instead he sat beneath the bleachers and chain-smoked all the way through lunch and his calculus class. When that was over, it didn’t even feel like the rest of the day was worth it, so he just skipped.

He spent the rest of the day parked in a parking lot dear the dinky shopping center. Most people were at work, so it wasn’t crowded. He sat there in his car for a couple hours, blocked by the shade of the tree looming overhead his parking spot. When it came time to pick Max up, he pulled up to the middle school. She was there, flocked by her friends. He didn’t pay any of them attention when he rolled up, just kept his eyes forward and waited for Max to get the hint.

She didn’t say anything on the drive back, probably able to pick up the residual prickliness that lingered from that morning. He felt bad for shutting her out but didn’t know what else he could do. It was easier to just not drag her into any of this.

The night was like any other. Neil holding court at the dinner table with his unwilling participants. It was still better than most nights, where he could guarantee his dad’s beady eyes on him evaluating his every move. His dad was still feeling charitable from his lesson Saturday and didn’t comment on Billy’s silence.

The next morning was the same, only Max was shiftier on the drive up to the middle school.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, confused at her behavior.

“Nothing,” she answered too quickly, which was just as concerning as the idea of what she could possibly be concealing.

“You know, you’re a bad liar,” he told her, “I can tell you’re up to something.”

She gave him a nasty grin that rivalled one of his own. “Guess you’ll have to wait and find out.”

She departed from his car without a second glance, in contrast to the hesitance yesterday. It was enough to make him suspicious, but not enough for him to actually be worried about it. He should’ve paid attention to the feeling in his gut, though.

Ten minutes away from the high school he could see a car attempting to tail him. When it got closer, he groaned as he recognized the Beamer that was in his rearview mirror. Steve probably knew Billy would go ghost today again and had planned some kind of pre-emptive strike with Max that allowed him to know when Billy was going to drop her off.

He cruised right past the high school, veering a sharp left that was supposed to get Steve off his tail but only succeeded in leading him further on the chase. For all that he had given Steve shit on his grandma-driving in the past, he sure was having an easy time keeping up with Billy. Fucking German cars and their acceleration.

Steve stayed on his tail for another twenty minutes, seemingly content to skip school if it meant chasing down Billy. He bit out a frustrated, “Fuck!” and smacked his wheel before taking the route to the quarry. God knows Steve would follow him around all day and wait for his gas tank to dry. He’d hoped he could avoid Steve for a couple days, get his bearings more so he could deal with whatever miserable conversation they were bound to have. He should’ve known there was no way Steve would be patient enough for that, though.

It took another ten minutes to get to the quarry and park his car, and he had barely been sitting there for a minute before he heard a sharp rapping on his window. It was no surprise to see Steve there, in full mom-pose with his hands on his hips. He cranked the window down.

“Hey,” he gave, already forgetting the tentative script he had come up with in his head for the past two days.

“Hey?” Steve questioned back. “Do you wanna get out of your car and talk to me? Or am I supposed to just stand here and stare at your face all day?”

He sighed. He didn’t blame Steve for being a little frustrated, he was just dreading the fact that he was about to make his mood worse.

Billy stepped out of the car and closed the door carefully behind him. Once he was out, Steve reached for him. He didn’t flinch as Steve touched his shoulder, but it still hurt all the same.

“Billy, what _happened_? Max said your dad took you somewhere Saturday, and you didn’t come to class yesterday…” he looked shaken, “I was worried you got hurt again, but Max told me last night that you came home like normal. That’s not just it, though, right? Something happened, didn’t it?”

He didn’t answer at first, didn’t even know how to get the words out. It didn’t help that Steve was rubbing circles into his shoulder with his thumb gently and staring at him with those tender eyes.

“Listen,” he finally was able to ground out, “I don’t—I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

He couldn’t look Steve in the eye, was only able to look past his shoulder over to the cliff. He expected Steve to back off, get defensive, maybe call him a coward.

Of course Steve had to surprise him by letting his other hand cup Billy’s shoulder. He still couldn’t look into his eyes.

“Why do you think that?” he asked quietly. He sounded hurt, but he continued on, “Do you _really_ wanna stop seeing me? Or is it something else?”

He could feel the tears gathering in his eyes again. It’d be so much goddamn simpler if Steve could just act like a _regular person_ and get angry, instead he made it more difficult to push him away with his seemingly endless understanding. Huffing, he tried to squirm out of Steve’s grip, but the hands remained firm on his shoulders, still rubbing little circles through his shirt.

“Steve… it just can’t work out. Won’t. You’ve got a life ahead of you and I’m just… here. I can’t hold you back like that.”

Now Steve looked furious. He gave Billy a little shake. “Are you _serious_? You’re saying that _I_ have a future, and you don’t? You’re joking, right?”

“No,” he snapped, feeling this conversation already leeching the energy from him, “I’m not. You have—”

“Shut up, don’t you dare tell me what kind of future I have or _will_ have,” he spat back, “This isn’t you. This has _never_ been you. Your dad said something, didn’t he?”

“You don’t fucking know me,” he hissed back, “No one fucking knows me. You just think you do because we’ve made out a couple times.”

Steve shook his head. “No. I know you’re trying to hurt me right now, and I know why. He fucking said something to you and suddenly you don’t think you’re worth shit. That’s what it is, I know it.”

Billy reared back, ready to give another verbal blow. Steve kept going, though. “If anyone has no fucking future it’s _me_ you idiot, I’m the one who was too dumb to get into any schools. I’m the one that’s holding you back, not the other way around.”

“Shut up, you’re not fucking dumb.” he responded automatically, the instant reaction he got whenever Steve talked about himself like that. “You actually have fucking options; I’m doomed to fucking work a dead-end job and hate my life.”

“Is that what he told you?”

He tried to shoulder out of Steve’s grip again. “He didn’t tell me shit I didn’t already know.”

“Billy, you can’t seriously _believe_ that.” Steve said desperately, “You know he’s fucked in the head. He just wants to keep you under his thumb any way he knows how. You _know_ this, you’ve said it to me.”

“Maybe he just put things into perspective. He—”

“Bullshit,” Steve’s face was a cloud of fury. “Full fucking bullshit. I don’t care what he told you, or made you believe, but you’re not gonna end up like a lowlife like him. You’re going to fucking go places and leave us all behind in the dust.”

His eyes were getting blurrier and blurrier, and his throat was tightening by the second. He had to end it here, had to get out of Steve’s grip before he saw the tears. “It is what it is, okay? Just let it go, please,” he tacked on.

Steve was relentless. “No, I’m not just gonna let it go, I’m not gonna just let you—let you _think_ this, okay?”

He stepped closer to Billy, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating off of him. Steve getting into his space was dizzying and made him lose his train of thought.

“ _Baby_ , please,” Steve whispered. Billy had to shut his eyes and felt the tears push past his lids. “Please don’t do this. You know he’s wrong, you know he’s _nothing_. You’re everything.”

“What’s the point?” he asked, still not opening his eyes. “He’s right, though. Even my mom knew I was nothing.”

Steve tugged him into a hug before he could think to move away. Once he got his arms around him, he tightened them and forced Billy to put his head in his neck so they wouldn’t bump faces. One of the hands started rubbing along his back, just like how he had done when Steve had that nightmare all those nights ago.

He tried to get out of it, but the struggle was fruitless. Every move he made to escape only sealed Steve’s arms around him tighter. Finally, after fighting it, he succumbed and relaxed into the hold. He barely felt the tears down his face. His shoulders were shaking, though.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Steve said into his ear. “It’s alright. You’re not nothing, Billy. You’ve got the whole world ahead of you. You’re gonna go to California and you’re gonna be _free_ , okay? You’re gonna have an amazing life that’s gonna be so much better than your dad’s, and you’re gonna make it. I know you are.”

The mention of California made Billy cry a little harder, but not for reasons Steve probably thought. It was the fact that Steve was acknowledging that Billy could leave to halfway across the country, and he didn’t even sound sad about it. His acceptance that Billy was just going to leave and never look back, like he was totally fine with just picking up the pieces afterwards. Like once Billy was gone, he was going to move on without a second thought.

Steve pulled back to look him in the eye. His face felt tight and hot, and he hated how disgusting he looked after crying, but he still made eye contact. It was the least he owed him.

“Please don’t end it because of this,” Steve breathed, “ _Please_ don’t, not because you think that, or he told you that. I don’t give a fuck about it because it’s not true. Even if you _were_ holding me back, I wouldn’t care.”

With Steve looking at him like that it was hard to resist. “Steve…” he could only say, trailing off as he couldn’t think of the words.

“ _Please_ , Billy,” Steve pleaded again, and it was so heartbreaking to see those puppy-dog eyes looking at him like that. Hurt to see the tears gathering in Steve’s eyes and knowing that he was the cause. “You can’t. You just can’t.”

Steve stood there, waiting for something. Finally, defeated, Billy gave a nod. Steve breathed a sigh of relief, and gripped Billy in another hug.

He fucked it up, should have said something about Steve being wrong, should have protested, should have done something he would’ve done in the past when he felt attacked. Instead, he folded. Maybe Steve thought this was okay for now, but in the long run it’d only hurt them both more. Billy knew it with a surety in his bones.

~

Life resumed normalcy, and Billy and Steve shoved their little talk under the rug. If he looked more closely, he could see the concerned looks Steve sometimes shot his way when he thought Billy wasn’t looking, could pick up on the underlying tension between them when the silence took over. It was strained, and Billy wondered if he had actually been successful to drive Steve away with the tension alone that seemed to weigh like a gray cloud over them. He’d been acquainted with this feeling enough to know that something had to give, the other shoe had to drop soon. He just didn’t expect that it wouldn’t be related to Steve at _all_.

Everything went down on an innocuous Sunday night. Susan was out covering a shift for her coworker, so it was just Billy and Max eating dinner with his dad that night. She was badgering Neil, trying to his dad to agree to birthday party coming up with one of her friends. He could admire her bravery, even in the face of his dad’s evaluating eyes.

“Who all will be there?” he asked, setting his napkin down.

Max, operating under the belief that Neil was on his way to agreement, helpfully supplied the names. “My friend El, Dustin Henderson, Will Byers, Mike Wheeler, Lucas Sinclair…”

It all happened so fast. Billy caught the misstep before Max did. He couldn’t stop himself from snapping his head up to look at her from across the table, eyes widened and heart already racing. It only took Max a second to realize her mistake, and when she did her whole body stiffened. Her frightened eyes met Billy’s across the table, and they only had a moment to share their breathless fear. Neil wasn’t as slow on the uptake.

“The Sinclair boy? The one I told you to stay away from?” His voice had an unmistakable hard edge to it.

Billy was frozen in his seat. His own heart was thumping erratically, even though he wasn’t the one in trouble for once. But Max had that familiar look in her eye, the one that Billy knew passed his own face only a million times. The look of prey facing the predator. Seeing it on Max of all people had him feeling jittery and clammy, like he had caught the chills. This had never happened before. Max was unprepared on how to deal with Neil Hargrove’s direct wrath.

“Maxine?” His dad questioned, cutting through the tense silence, “I believe I asked you a question.”

Neil was staring directly at her, so Max was forced to meet his eyes. She shrunk back into the seat, while Neil leaned forward slightly. Billy’s hand was still clutched onto his fork tightly. He felt like if he even breathed too loud something would happen.

Max had seen similar confrontations go down before, so at least she knew silence couldn’t be an answer for long. “Yes.” Her voice was small.

His dad tilted his head, not breaking eye contact, “After all I’ve told you, warned you, and you still disobey me? Do you have any idea how bad it is to be associated with people like… that?”

He waited for an acknowledgement from Max. He didn’t get one, though. Instead, he got the steely eyes of Max staring right back, mouth set in a firm line like how it was when she was royally pissed off. Billy wanted to nudge her, kick her foot, anything to tell her to cool it. She wasn’t dropping her eyes, dropping her chin, reciting a dull, “Yes, sir.” She was doing all the wrong things. Billy felt his pulse tick in his neck.

“Young lady,” His dad snapped his finger a couple inches from her face. Billy was impressed by how little she flinched, and instead maintained her own challenging stare. “I asked you a question.”

“They’re good people.” Max said defiantly. Billy dropped his fork, hoping the loud metal clang would direct the attention back on him. For once, though, his dad didn’t feel like glancing his way.

“Good people? And how do you know _that_? In your thirteen-years you’re suddenly so much smarter than me?”

Max didn’t say anything, just stared defiantly back. It was obvious what she thought.

His dad was angered by her reticence. “Listen to me right now,” he hissed, “You may think you’re all grown up, but _you’re not_. You’re a little _girl_ , you don’t know anything, you just—”

“Oh yeah? And you know so much?” Max crowed back. It felt like a fever dream watching it all go down. “Lucas’s dad is a _doctor_ , last I checked that was a hell of a lot more impressive than a fucking construction manager,”

His dad rose from his chair quickly, the chair scraping back loudly on the hardwood floor but no one at the table paid it any mind. His dad raised his hand, ready to backhand. Billy was suddenly brought to the surface like he’d been underwater the entire time.

“Hey,” he cut in, almost not even realizing he was the one who spoke up at first. It was like he was hearing his voice from the outside, like a spectator. “Back off.”

His dad stilled, still standing over Max with his hand reared back. He turned towards Billy, slowly lowering his arm. “What did you just say to me?”

“I said,” Billy stood up now, that jittery feeling spreading like it was taking over his body. “Back. The fuck. Off.”

The rush that came with the words was like the endorphins he got after gym. His whole body felt like it was vibrating, and it felt good to tense up and clench and unclench his knuckles. His dad was turned towards him fully, now, and the look on his face was half fury and half disbelief. Billy couldn’t blame him. He could count on one hand the number of times he spoke back to his dad. That didn’t seem to matter now, though, when the adrenaline was coursing through his body like this. Seeing his dad straightened to his full height and facing Billy head on was like the last piece slotting in place.

The second she was free; Max made a break for it. His dad didn’t pay her any mind, not even glancing when she darted past him, disappearing into the hall. Neither Billy nor his dad took their eyes off each other. Neil stepped forward.

“Well, well. Little boy wants to be a man, huh?” Neil was rolling his sleeves up now. Billy stood his ground, not daring to move an inch, not even when his dad took a half step in his direction.

“Bigger man than you are.” He spat, and the rush that followed was immediate. Neil took another step toward him, and Billy made himself stay still.

“You know, I thought we had come to an understanding last week.” He said, the calmness in his tone only making the air in the room feel more sinister. “I thought you finally learned your place.”

“Yeah, well that was bullshit,” he said, thinking on Steve’s words. “You’re a little man who just wants me under his thumb. It’s about fucking time someone stood up to you.”

“And you think that’s you, huh?” his dad sneered. “The little boy whose mother didn’t even love him enough to stay?”

Billy was emboldened, though. Emboldened by Steve’s words from last week ringing in his head, emboldened by his dad’s angry stare, emboldened by the feeling coursing in his veins.

“Yeah, maybe she left me behind,” Billy allowed, “But don’t forget you’re the reason why she left in the first place. She hated _you_ so much she was desperate to get away. Pretty pathetic, don’t you think?”

At that, his dad snarled and finally lunged. Billy, who had been watching his dad get angrier and angrier, fully expected it. He was able to sidestep out of the way quick enough for his dad’s full-on attack, but seconds later he had Billy’s collar tightly wrapped in his fist. Billy squirmed and struggled, breathing hard, until he was able to shrug the jacket off his shoulders and get around Neil.

Neil was after him in seconds, cursing and swearing. He could barely hear him over the rush of blood in his hears. He was trying to get to the hall, and then a sudden burst of pain caught him off guard. His dad had steel grasp in his hair, fingers snagged to the root in his curls. It was rough enough to stun Billy momentarily, and once he was within arm’s reach his dad gave a forceful tug back. He laid a paw around the juncture between his neck and shoulders, and roughly forced Billy down until he was on his hands and knees.

With his dad looming over him like this, no matter how much Billy struggled he was still forced chest down onto the ground. Once his dad had a knee in the square of his back, he reared Billy’s head backwards before slamming it to the ground. Billy was seeing stars immediately, and barely had time to blink away all the dots before his head was going down hard again, this time at an angle that made his nose start bleeding immediately. He thought he heard a crack. His head was tugged back again, but this time Billy had desperation on his side, and dug his nails deep into the hand Neil had on the ground for stability.

It was enough for a couple seconds of purchase, and Billy used every last one of them. With a force he didn’t feel like he normally possessed, he rolled to the side roughly and toppled his dad from his back. Once he was clear, he scrambled to his knees and tried to shake off the dizziness that immediately followed. His dad was able to get up quicker than Billy had expected him to, and Billy staggered to get away. He felt his dad’s hand on his shoulder, trying to yank him back again, and in a fit of mad desperation Billy yanked the arm off his shoulder and bit down into the meat of his dad’s palm. The immediate howl was everything Billy had ever dreamed of. There wasn’t respite for long, though, as only seconds after he felt his dad’s other hand clap him on the back of the head.

It was a weak hit, though, and gave Billy enough time to whirl around so his back wasn’t exposed anymore. His dad’s face was beet red, and the veins were standing out in his neck or forehead. If Billy had any luck at all in the universe, his dad would collapse from a stroke or heart attack or even a fucking brain aneurysm, but Billy had never had that kind of luck. Instead, it was like his dad was just gearing up for more, chest heaving up and down as his eyes fixed hatefully on Billy. He dove forward.

Billy stepped out of the way again, and this time he stepped back in to give his dad a good football tackle. He got his dad to the floor, and for a minute or two had the upper hand. All he felt was flesh under his fist, and barely registered the sounds of the both of them heaving and grunting. He got in a few good, dizzying hits, before his dad reared up and headbutted him, leaving Billy reeling back. Blindly, Billy stood up and staggered off his dad, trying to clear his vision once again.

While he was still blinking, he felt two hands land squarely on his chest and give a good shove back. He felt his back hit the shelves on the wall behind him, and it was a sick sort of relief to finally have some pain in a different place rather than his head over and over again. He heard something shatter to the floor. He ducked away before his dad could corner him against the wall. Two picture frames fell off the wall he was just up against. He was turning just in time to see his dad pick the third one up and throw it his way.

It wasn’t a direct hit in the middle of his eyes like how his dad probably wanted, but it caught the corner of his head. Blood immediately started dripping down, and now Billy was blinking blood and the dots out of his eyes as he tried to get his bearings. His dad used that time to advance.

Billy tried to struggle in his arms as much as he could, but Neil had more weight on him and had him pinned to the ground in seconds. He tried again and again to twist out from under him, but Neil sat directly on his chest, thighs locked around Billy’s torso so he wouldn’t be able to move. Billy felt his desperation reach new heights when his dad’s calloused hands wrapped around his throat and began to press.

His hands flew up to his throat immediately, trying and failing to pry his dad’s fingers off. His legs were scrambling wildly for any kind of purchase, but his dad wasn’t giving him any wiggle room. The pressure on his throat was one thing, but his dad was putting so much weight on his chest he wasn’t able to get any good breaths in anyways. He could distantly hear himself making little choking noises, and those dots were multiplying now at the edges of his vision. The only thing he could see was his dads snarling, hateful face above him. Was this how he was actually going to die? He could’ve told you he expected it all the years, but when confronted with the reality he made a last-ditch effort of desperation to break free.

All he could think of was Steve. Steve, getting a phone call from someone, Steve finding out about the fatal fight, Steve looking at his body in a casket. It was all so bleak he found himself crying out, fighting against everything to break free. The struggle only made his dad press down harder, though, and when he finally cut off all of Billy’s air passages things felt like they were starting to slow down.

The dots were blinking black and white, growing, and multiplying until he felt like he couldn’t see anything. Maybe his eyes finally shut. The dots had taken over enough that his vision was completely black. It was almost like going to sleep. He could barely even feel any of the pain anymore. His arms fell away, and his legs gave up moving, feeling all the energy leeching out of him quickly. Then, right before he dropped off, the pressure disappeared from his chest and throat abruptly. It was the greatest feeling of relief, but he was already unconscious before he could fully register it.

~

“Okay, give me one more second, and then you’ll be done,”

“Come _on_ ,” he groaned, “Just give it a rest. This is the best it’s gonna get.”

Steve glared at him. “Not if I can help it. Just let me find the cufflinks really quick.”

Now it was Billy’s turn to glare. “Steve, I’m not wearing fucking _cufflinks_ , no one is going to be wearing cufflinks.”

The little pout Steve gave was almost enough to sway his mind. “I’m wearing cufflinks.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s because you’re _you_ , there’s no way in Hell you’re putting those things on me. I’ll just button it like everyone else.”

Steve gave a sigh but seemed to sense when a battle was fully lost, because he gave up his search of rifling through his dad’s dresser to find the cufflinks he had been insisting upon Billy.

It’s not like the suit he was wearing would look good anyway. It was borrowed from Steve’s _dad_ of all people and hung loose in some places while tight in others. But it was better than the suit Steve tried to lend him, one of his own that stretched way too tightly across his back.

“Alright, let’s take one last look in the mirror and then we can go,” Steve said finally.

Billy huffed an annoyed breath but still did as he was asked and turned to face the full-length mirror in Steve’s parents’ closet. The suit really didn’t look all that terrible, it was mostly Billy trying to give Steve grief for actually going through with the whole prom thing. He didn’t want to go at all. But it was the least he could do for Steve.

The only sign of the altercation between him and his dad last month was the scar on his forehead. The bruises around his neck and face had finally faded away fully in the last week, but he knew there would probably always be a mark over his eyebrow. That was fine. It could have been worse. It was almost worse.

Turns out that Max had some sense about her, the second that she darted from the room while he and his dad faced off against each other she had raced to Neil and Susan’s room to use their bedside phone. She hadn’t called the police, but rather the personal number of the police _chief_. Billy figured he was lucky that Max somehow had an in with Chief Hopper, because he had gotten there in the nick of time. Billy had already been unconscious before he came in. The next thing he knew he was in a hospital bed.

He hadn’t sustained any long-term injuries, just the bruises and cuts that had to be treated. The swollen painful skin around his neck where his father had gripped him with all his strength had been the worst of it. For a week or two afterwards every time he moved his neck it felt sore and ached like a bitch. The cut from the picture frame had needed stitches, but that was the end of the injuries.

He didn’t know what he expected when he got his first visitors, but it sure as hell wasn’t Chief Hopper with his sister. Max’s face looked wan and drawn, and the chiefs face looked uncomfortable. That’s when Billy had figured out how it came to be he was still alive. He had profusely thanked Hopper, who waved it away without a thought and told Billy that he could make a statement against his dad to make it even. Even then, though, he had still floundered for a second. It just didn’t seem like it’d be possible, too good to be real. Hopper had said he would give Billy a day or two to think about it.

However, it was only an hour later when Steve barreled into his room that he got fully convinced to go through with it. Steve had burst through the door, panting and wide eyed. When he saw Billy in the hospital bed, bruised and stitched, his shoulders slumped, and he looked so _wounded_ Billy wondered if Steve was the one who should be admitted.

Steve stumbled forward, until he was clutched onto the rails of the hospital bed. He looked like he wanted to reach out so badly, but also looked like he was afraid to hurt Billy even more. It was sweet, but Billy didn’t want to be treated like fine china, or anything. He wanted everything to just go back to normal, like the last 24 hours had never happened.

“Billy,” he breathed, still staring down with those wide eyes, “Max called me after they—after they took you to the hospital. Are you—are you gonna be okay? _Please_ don’t tell me he found out about—”

“Relax, I’m okay,” he told Steve. His throat has rasped, though, vocal cords sore from the earlier assault. “He didn’t find out about that; it was something else. I’m good, alright?”

Steve still didn’t look assured. Instead, his eyes combed over Billy’s face and neck, wincing even more when Billy knew he was staring at the heavy bruising around his throat.

“He was trying to _choke_ you,” Steve said softly, eyes still fixated on his neck, “Max said Hopper took your dad off you, but you were already passed out. You could have _died_.”

Billy placed his hand on one of Steve’s that was clutching the rail. He squeezed tight, so Steve would look away and back into his eyes again. “Hey, it’s alright. Hopper did come just in time. I really am fine.”

While he didn’t look fully convinced, Steve at least seemed to loosen up a little bit. He reached behind him to drag one of the hospital chairs closer so he could sit down. Billy kept his hand on his the entire time, thinking about how scared and hurt and _fragile_ Steve looked right now.

“Did Hopper take your statement?” Steve asked.

Billy averted his eyes. “Not yet. I…I haven’t made it.”

Steve goggled back at him. “ _What?_ Why not?”

It hurt his neck a little bit to shrug, but he did it anyway. “I don’t know. I just…haven’t.”

“Do you want to?”

And _God_ wasn’t that the question of the century. He sure as hell wanted to. But at the same time, it just didn’t feel so cut and dry. He’d been through this before, right before they left for Hawkins actually. He had laid in a hospital bed, much like this one, back in Encinitas. Only, when the hospital staff asked him for a statement then, he just said he got mugged. It was what he knew he had to do. He hadn’t even questioned it at the time. It was just another part of the script.

He had never really gone off script before. But after talking to Steve and realizing that his life really _could_ be his own, he had finally summed up the courage and made a statement to Hopper the next day. Hopper had been able to file not only a protective order on Billy’s behalf, but also was able to transport Neil to a different holding facility than the one they had in Hawkins. Come June he’d probably have to go into court and make a statement, and make sure he could make the order stick, and hopefully get Neil a couple of years behind bars. It wouldn’t matter once he got out because Billy would be long gone.

Which was partially the reason why he was acting extra bratty tonight. He’d been mulling it over since his hospital visit and had finally decided to face his fears and ask Steve if he would come to California with him. It was daunting to think about, but at this point he really had nothing left to lose, and it would kill him if he never actually asked. That, plus Steve’s constant comforting presence over the last month had solidified it. He always kept thinking back to that one night all those weeks ago, where Steve had summed up the insurmountable courage to confess his feelings. That was braver than Billy had ever been. He figured he owed it to him.

That and this stupid fucking prom. Steve had told Billy after he was discharged that they didn’t have to go to the dance, they could spend a quiet night in like he knew Billy preferred. He looked so sincere saying it, too, like he was actually okay with missing the dance he’d been talking about for weeks. But Billy knew that deep down Steve _really_ wanted to go, and there was no way he was going to let him down after all Steve had done for him.

So now here he was, staring back at himself in the monkey suit, dreading the end of the night where he was going to pop his proposition. Luckily, Steve mistook the nerves for insecurity, because he just smiled behind Billy in the mirror and said, “Stop worrying. You look good.”

“Of course I look good,” he said, “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

Steve rolled his eyes and lightly shoved him from the back. “C’mon, we’re already gonna be late.”

“Not _my_ fault you went on a scavenger hunt for some cufflinks,” he said, finally making to leave.

“Yeah, yeah, excuse me for trying to implement some taste,” Steve locked the door behind them and headed for the Beamer.

“Taste?” he said, getting into the passenger seat. “Aren’t you the one that owns, like twenty pastel polos?”

Steve scowled, and didn’t look at Billy. “Just because I _own_ them doesn’t mean I actually wear them. Like you would actually ever let me hear the end of it.”

Billy just grinned. “Damn right.”

The high school parking lot was packed, as expected, but Steve’s usual spot was still empty. It didn’t look like there were many people outside, so they really _had_ come a little later than everyone else, but Steve was still buzzing with excitement as they handed their tickets over and made their way to the gym.

The decorations didn’t look all _that_ shitty, even though the theme was some dumb shit like “a night in Paris”, judging from the papier-mâché Eiffel tower on the corner of the room. Steve was able to track down Wheeler and Byers, who had probably only agreed to come in the first place due to Steve’s begging. Billy had staunchly refused that he was going to dance, and Steve at least had accepted that since he knew Billy was going to be actively disliking it the entire time.

Billy took some comfort in at least not looking as awkward as Byers, who looked every inch awkward in his own suit. When Steve and Wheeler went to get punch, Billy dropped down into the seat next to Byers and gave a nod of solidarity.

Steve came back a couple of minutes later with a dark red concoction that could only be the school’s laughable attempt at tangy fruit punch. It tasted much better with the vodka he had in the flask he brought, and Byers and Steve looked grateful when he offered them both a turn to dump it into their drinks. Wheeler declined, which was exactly what Billy had expected when he packed it, so at least they all got a generous dose.

After sipping at his drink and talking, Steve was ready to dance. It was still the beginning of the dance, so only the fast songs were playing, and the acoustics were kind of giving him a headache, but the drink helped that once he got about halfway through.

Byers also wasn’t a big dancer, so Steve and Wheeler rolled their eyes at them and went out onto the dance floor, where they joined up with a couple of people who were dancing with a group.

Finally, when he finished off his punch, Billy felt himself start to unclench a bit. Byers noticed, and commented on it, “Yeah, can’t say I wanna be here much, either.”

He sighed. “Cheers to us, whipped and spineless.”

Jonathon toasted him with his own empty cup, also looking a little more relaxed. “At least she’s not forcing me to go out on the floor right now. I know I’ll have to jump in at some point, though.”

“There’s no way I’m getting dragged out there.” Billy said determinedly.

“We’ll see about that,” Jonathan smirked.

He was right, because sure enough almost half an hour later Steve and Wheeler came careening toward them and swooped both of them up within seconds. Steve was gripping tightly onto his sleeve, begging with his eyes that Billy come out for at least _one_ dance. Of course Billy couldn’t refuse, not when Steve was glowing from dancing and looking so happy. He begrudgingly stepped in with the group and glared at Byers when he raised his eyebrows his way.

Dancing really wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be, everyone seemed to be absorbed into their own little friend group and didn’t bother to pay attention to the other around them. Even Tommy and Carol gave him a nod when he spotted them a couple feet away. Steve’s enjoyment was infectious, and Billy found himself grinning within no time of watching his spectacularly bad dance moves. He also took delight in seeing Nancy try to get Jonathon to do the hand jive, to no avail.

It really wasn’t all that bad dancing with a group, since other people seemed to be doing that as well. He had kind of been worried he’d still be getting looks, but no one paid him more than a second’s glance. When he had first come back to school after everything, the story had already made its way around the high school and it seemed like everyone knew every sordid detail of the event. He had gotten a lot of looks from a lot of people, students and teachers alike, and that was almost worse than the lingering injuries. Teenagers were never fascinated on one subject for too long, though, and now it seemed like Billy was back to being any other kid in the hallway.

They danced for a good while, until the songs started switching to slower, sappy ones. Billy and Steve left Wheeler and Byers on the dance floor and went back to their table. Steve was flushed and sweating from all his dancing, and he looked so good Billy couldn’t help the goofy grin that grew across his face as he stared at him.

When Steve looked up, a smile spread across his own face. “I told you it would be fun.”

He rolled his eyes. “Not that. You.”

The flush that spread across Steve’s cheeks was worth the embarrassment of actually saying that sappy shit out loud. “I cannot believe you just said that.” He still looked pleased Billy had, though.

“C’mon,” he jerked his head towards the doors, feeling like it would be now or never, or he would lose his nerve completely, “Let’s go outside for a sec.”

Steve raised his brows. “We’re gonna miss the Prom court results.”

Billy rolled his eyes. “Oh, who gives a shit. Everyone knows it’s gonna go to Will Holloway, we never stood a chance.”

Steve laughed, but didn’t argues with him. No one paid them any mind as they snuck out of the gym, everyone either too absorbed with dancing with their significant other on the dance floor, or those without one content to watch the couples dance around from their view on the bleachers.

It felt great outside, if there was one thing Hawkins knew how to do well it was spring. April had still held some residual chill from March in the beginning, but by halfway through the month it felt like the town had finally started to melt from the permafrost that Billy felt had coated it for months and months. Now late into May the weather was perfect, a light breeze to make up for the bit of warmth leftover from the day. It still wasn’t nearing the summer heat yet, but Billy figured Hawkins probably didn’t have the same summer temperatures as southern California. No matter what happened with Steve, he’d still have to get a summer job and bum it here for the summer to save up some money.

When they finally made their way past the random couples scattered outside the building, they decided to round the corner towards the band hall entrance, where there was a good pocket of space available that they knew no one would probably be necking in.

Once they were around the corner and near the entrance under the flickering tall lamp, Steve smoothed his hands over Billy’s chest and griped the front. The whole walk there Billy had been getting more and more nervous, and he took Steve’s offered kiss as something to focus on instead of his racing heart and sweaty palms. They made out for a good ten minutes, Billy content to inch Steve backwards until he hit the brick wall, all the while diligently licking behind his teeth and nibbling on his lower lip. When he went to pull back, Steve followed him, before drawing back and leaving a tantalizing line of saliva between him. He thumbed it away, panting and keyed up. It was now or never.

When Steve leaned forward again to ostensibly get a second round going, Billy cut him off. “Hey. I—uh, I wanted to ask you something.”

Steve raised a brow and settled back, a little grin tugging at his red lips, “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he felt like he could feel his pulse in his ears beating like a base drum, almost so loud he couldn’t hear his own thoughts or the words leaving his mouth, “About California.”

That was obviously wasn’t what Steve was expecting, judging by the way he reared his head back and stiffened up. “Um, okay.”

“Well, ya know, I’m going,” he said nervously, “And I got the scholarships to pay for my classes. Obviously. There’s no way I could afford it anyway,” he gave an anxious chuckle.

Steve didn’t say anything, just stared back at Billy with those wide chocolate eyes. He took a breath for fortification and continued.

“There’s no way in hell that I’d be able to afford the dorms, though, so I gotta do off campus housing. I’ll probably have to just get some shitty apartment, find a roommate and… well, there’s no one I’d want there more than you.”

The only response was Steve’s mouth open, gaping like a fish. Quickly, Billy tried to remand it by saying, “Not that you would be _just_ a roommate, or—or… I mean that’s only if you would wanna leave Hawkins, I know this is your home so I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t be offended or—”

Steve grabbed the sides of his face so hard his thumbs dug into Billy’s cheek. It was absolutely worth it for the way that Steve kissed him, though, cutting off his nervous rambling before he could embarrass himself further. Billy let himself sink into the kiss, emboldened by the firm way Steve gripped him closer.

When they broke apart a couple seconds later, they were both heavily panting, mouths still so close that they were exchanging all their breaths. “I’ll take that as a yes?” he ventured, feeling nervous still and needing confirmation.

“Of _course_ it is, you fucking moron,” Steve breathed, knocking him in the shoulder, “As if I would stay _here_ instead of going to California with you,”

He let out a giddy breath, relieved and pointing out, “I know you’re pretty attached to the kids here, plus this is the place you grew up. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to.”

Steve sighed, looking off into the space over Billy’s shoulder for a couple seconds. “Yeah, I won’t lie, it’ll be hard. But there’s always phones, and I’m sure we’ll find a way to meet up every so often, I know Max will badger you until she’s able to visit,”

Billy let out a laugh, “God, I know, the dweebs are gonna use her as reinforcements to convince us,” and it felt so good referring to them as _us_ in that moment he just had to vibrate a little.

“Poor Dustin is gonna have a conniption when he finds out, though,” Steve said, still smiling and shaking his head, “He’s probably gonna take at least one swing at you with the bat, I guarantee it.”

“That reminds me,” Billy said, the thought that had been tickling at the back of his head for the past couple months, but not strong enough to remember to ask half the time when faced with all their other issues, “What the fuck _was_ that night? Max injected me with a needle full of fucking _sedatives_ , plus threatened to take my balls off with that abomination. You’re lucky I’m too nice to ask Byers why there were all those creepy ass drawing pinned to the walls, too.”

Steve’s eyes went so big it was almost funny enough to distract from the question itself, but Billy had him caged in with his arms against the wall now and wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

Finally, Steve gave a nervous breathy laugh, “You honestly wouldn’t believe me. It’s kind of a long story.”

Billy grinned back at him, still riding the high of Steve’s acceptance and thoughts of their prospective future, “Well, we’ve got all the time in the world, now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part of me wanted to make it a little angstier, but i just couldn't do it hahaha, instead enjoy a soft!billy who is most definitely completely out of character but suits me just fine  
> thank you so much to everyone who commented and left kudos and followed this story? i never thought that i would get this far, let alone write this many words lol. i'm going to be working on another harringrove story, but this time i'm gonna try to write a majority of it beforehand before i start posting the chapters. if you have any thoughts about this please leave a comment! thanks again for reading :)

**Author's Note:**

> omggg it’s genuinely been like 5 years since i’ve posted a fic haha but i’m really excited for this one! once i’m done with this baby i’ve got another one lined up that i can’t wait to publish as well :) if you like it, lmk! i’m also on twitter @moodybitch96


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